Why Power Is A Must
by FromPrussiaWithLove
Summary: Oswell E. Spencer is known for corrupting Albert Wesker, or so everyone believes. Jake Muller comes upon an account behind Wesker's corruption and writes the story that was left out of the public eye. "The only thing that can defeat power, is more power."
1. Chapter 1

**Why Power Is A Must.**

**Summary:** Oswell E. Spencer is known for corrupting Albert Wesker, or so everyone believes. Jake Muller comes upon an account behind Wesker's corruption. "The only thing that can defeat power, is more power."

**Chapter 1.**

A BSAA agent guides me to a conference room; his face is downcast, avoiding my stare. From what I've heard about my father, my resemblance to him must feel awkward to the highest extent; a dead man's eyes following his every move. That was one thing that Mom said resembled my bastard of a father, my eyes. The door in front of me is ajar and beckoning me to enter into the empty room. It takes a while for it to dawn on me; where the hell is Redfield? The BSAA is his family, so I'd assume that he'd be here first, awaiting my arrival and sweating like a whore in a Catholic church. Yet, he's nowhere to be found. I saunter over to one of the chairs and sit; whilst positioning myself into a comfortable manner – feet on the table and back halfway down the chair – Redfield appears in the doorway. Let the awkwardness begin. He sits down in the chair nearest to the door and keeps checking the door, as if he knows an alarm is going to sound any moment. His eyes meet mine for a second and then turn down towards his twiddling thumbs. His mouth opens and closes; it's synonymous with the motion of a fish.

"If I wanted awkward downtime, I would just go see Sherry, again." I crack the silence; it's true. Sherry and I weren't anything past co-workers, and when all was said and done, she left. The first time I saw her again, she smiled – in a pitiful manner – as she wandered off to find her _friend_. Sherry Birkin – super girl – is just like everyone else.

"No, I – um, I'm –" Redfield clearly can't get his shit together, and it's ridiculous really. He survived Raccoon City _and_ my insane father; why can't he just hold a conversation with me? Why doesn't anyone have time for me? Am I meant to live in the shadows of all these great or corrupted men before me?

"Trying to piece together what to say. Well, I'll start. I'm Jake Muller, Albert Wesker's bastard son, nice to meet you. I know Wesker was a nutcase, and you killed him." That's all there is, right?

"Albert Wesker was a strong – noble – man, who was corrupted with contempt for humanity, but I find myself loathing him from time to time. He was a natural leader to me, but I cannot forgive him for all the lives that he wasted – took – without a second thought. When it came to the end, there was no way to bring him back. He was too far gone – too damaged – too volatile."

"Well, let me cut it short. He was insane; you stopped him and saved the world. Congrats! I don't give a shit about him. He didn't have the decency to stay with my mom long enough for me to be born, so he has nothing to do with me." _"Your father's actions have nothing to do with you." "You can blame your father all you want, but at some point, you have to take responsibility." _"His choices, mistakes, and everything have _nothing _to do with me."

"Well, I'm sorry to waste your time, Mr. Muller." Redfield jumps up; I know he wants to leave.

"It's Jake, and it's fine." His hand extends towards me, and I shake it in a professional manner. "Glad to have the talk, Redfield."

"It's Chris, and there's one more thing." He reaches in his back pocket, and I jump a bit when I see a black object in his hand. I realize that this is pointless though; I am no Albert Wesker. Redfield has no need to kill me. In his hand is a beaten black journal; it's earned its fair share of wear.

"Great, I needed a diary to confess all my daddy problems to." I sneer.

"It's Wesker's." His grip on the journal is ironclad, like it's burning him but he can't let go.

"And I thought my deadbeat father gambled off all his belongings somewhere in Edonia, leaving me without a single item of inheritance."

"Your father – Wesker – wasn't completely bad."

"I know. I've been told." I grab the journal from his hand and head for the door. "Thanks, Redfield."

"It's Chri–"

"I _know_." I make my way out of the building, to my bike, to the road, to _nothing_.

– –

It finally occurred to me that I should read the journal of Albert Wesker, but it's so easy to find some other mind-numbing task to do. Yet, here I am, at three in the morning, reading his stupid memoir. The handwriting ranges from small acute letters to almost machine-like compact words, and all of the things accounted for in this journal... I find myself lost in the story of someone else, and I often find hints of additions of paper to continue within one journal. And slowly, despite my distaste for the man, his entries from an average man to a power crazed psycho make sense. The gradual insanity that swallowed him whole. It all made sense, and it sickened me that I could understand this. Even worse, I felt somewhat sickened with humanity after finishing the journal. It's seven in the morning, and the sun is rising like any other day. However, this sunrise feels almost metaphorical; it is the dawn of new understanding of a man of mystery.

I feel it is somewhat of a duty to revise this journal as a biography – a retelling – of the life of Albert Wesker, my father, the man who tried to rule the world.

**A/N:** This is my first Resident Evil fanfic, and I hope you enjoy it. Please review, critique. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

I find it hard to truly capture the character of Albert Wesker, but from what I have read, I understand that he was forced into becoming a beast of a man.

– –

Albert Wesker is the child of anonymous parents. Only two things are known about his parents: one, they named him Albert; two, both were of high intellect. Lack of knowledge about him is because of a man known as Oswell E. Spencer. Spencer collected and raised children, like dogs. All of these children were given the surname Wesker; thus was the beginning of the Wesker children project. The world knows the name Wesker as synonymous with Albert Wesker, but there were other Weskers. A dozen to be exact. A dozen kidnapped, prodigious children that were scattered across the country and monitored. These thirteen children were raised to be the _perfection_ of humanity and Spencer's secret race of humans. Basically, it was Spencer's specialist baker's dozen, and Spencer was so _very _lucky that he chose a baker's dozen instead of _just_ a dozen.

Spencer was quick to play favorites with his 'children.' Specimen no. 013 was quick to become his favorite, and he began to fantasize of a utopia that was populated by men and women with the traits and attributes of his special specimen no. 013. This miniscule army of Einsteins was eventually injected with a lab created prototype virus. Nine of the twelve died. Specimens no. 006, no. 012, and no. 013 survived, and like sea turtles returning to the beach of their birth, the three specimens made their migration to Spencer. No. 013, about seventeen at the time, was offered a job working alongside a man of the name Brian Irons, under Doctor James Marcus of the Umbrella Research Center.

**[Brian] Irons is his name, and he resembles what I believe my father would be like intelligent, vigorous, and hardworking. I am quite overwhelmed with the assumed resemblance, but now, that I truly think about it, I have not quite enjoyed any parental influence. I would not consider foster parents because their job is to just raise the child; they do not necessarily have to foster a child and his emotions. Therefore, I have no true experience with maternal and paternal influences, but enough whining. **

Albert Wesker, no. 013, worked alongside Brian Irons and Doctor James Marcus and became friends with William Birkin, Sherry Birkin's father. Both Wesker and Birkin were of a notable young age with an abundance of knowledge and soon, became the favorites of Marcus,possibly the best apprentices he's ever had, and while all this factually wonderful and believable, Wesker didn't quite care the extra mile for Umbrella. Yes, he was happy about the job, but at the current moment, a woman held his heart, as unbelievable as that may be.

**All these wonders are introduced so quickly to me, and I wish to seek refuge in familiarity. Familiarity would do me well, indeed. **

He was only seventeen and foolishly in love.

**Elizabeth Jones is the loveliest person I have met in my entire life, and she is mine as I am hers. **

It was quite the oddity to read from Sir. Psycho, that he had a high school girlfriend, who he _loved_.

** I love her presence, and that enough is decent enough for me and what I need at the current moment. I would not protest to lying in bed next to her, inhaling her scent which lingers on the air around her. Her light brown hair that 'has a mind of its own' spread across the surface of the pillow and selfishly covering her face. I often feel that she is the only thing that is keeping me sane in this blasphemous life. Perhaps, it is because she too lacks the ownership of true parents, and we truly are just children clinging to one another in desperation to elude ourselves that we are stronger for growing up without parental influence. However, I believe that makes us a crippling amount weaker, and that is why we are such a decent match.**

I looked up Elizabeth Jones, and she was beautiful, the kind of girl that wins prom queen but is modest about it.Of course, Albert Wesker was a player with his own deck of cards _and_ chips.

** Perhaps the most wonderful thing about Elizabeth is the ignorant bliss that surrounds all experiences with her. When is comes to work, it's all about what I can do with my intelligence; at school it was all that I could do to show off others. With Elizabeth it's wonderful; I don't need to show off anyone. **

Perhaps this was the sign that Wesker was turning. He realized that he was smarter than everyone else, and that was the sinister seed that produced a vile man.

– ii –

I need a break. I close the journal and my laptop, and my fingers apply pressure n the corners of my eyes. Sleep depraved, I slip on a pair of tennis shoes, wandering out of my apartment, locking the door behind me. I wouldn't mind going for a ride; that always seems to calm me down. I'm somewhat regretting dropping my price to fifty dollars, but then, I thought Sherry was going to stay. I thought she'd stay, and _that_ would be worth more than fifty mil. I'm an idiot though. A sucker for the girls with the innocent look. I guess that I can thank my father for that; he seemed to fall for those women too, but maybe that was because those women were innocent, reminded him that humanity wasn't completely hopeless.

I pull out headphones from my pocket and shove the buds into my ears while plugging it into my phone. Placing the phone into an arm pocket, I situate myself on my bike; after putting on a pair of sunglasses, I kick off the ground and accelerate onto the road. Music blares into my ears, and my mind wanders as I lean and turn at random roads without a second thought. Clearing my mind is all that matters, but I can't shake the feeling that Redfield – no, the world – was wrong about Albert Wesker.

**A/N:** Much like _Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter_, **bold** face means that it's a journal entry, and normal text means it is narration/Jake. Please review, constructive criticism is appreciated.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

"Sherry," I greeted at the door; her beautiful blue eyes morosely smiled.

"Sorry to bother you," she stared at the floor. "I can't sleep."

"Sleep with a gun, it helps." I joked, while pushing the door open for her to enter the run down apartment.

"I'll try that sometime." She laughed, and I wanted her. "Although, I'm afraid of the possibility of pushing the trigger in my sleep."

"You get used to it." I wasn't lying then; I had enemies that would do anything to catch me off guard.

"You have a lot of things that you've gotten used to, don't you?"

"All but one, you, super girl." She laughed, and I loved it and wanted to hear more of it.

"Well, aren't you a charmer?" Her hand rested on my neck.

"I'm whatever you want me to be, for the right price."

–iii–

**I wake up everyday with the intentions to work until I wish to sleep, sleep, wake up, and continue. I need to work to acquire the capital that will allow me to leave, and that capital is only given if I work to my best extent. Birkin and I are working with biochemical experimentation; where the results go? Neither of us knows. I could not care wherever it goes; I am here to obtain the necessities to leave and support myself and Elizabeth. **

Yes, after reading this once over already, I will tell you that Elizabeth is a millstone in his life. Maybe she didn't love him; if she didn't, well, that wouldn't have mattered. He was a passionate man, naive maybe, but he went big and never went home. As a gun for hire, regardless of if I wanted to go big, B. have been handed to me on all kinds of platters, and so that phrase was twisted into "go big or die." I am passionate for money and living and maybe – no. Anyhow, remember how I said Wesker was Spencer's golden child? Elizabeth Jones wasn't on par with Spencer's expectations for a utopian society, so something must be done.

**It is quite sad, but horrible things happen to the best people. Whilst on the way to the research center, I heard over the radio that a young woman had been assaulted, damaged beyond recognition.**

He didn't know.

** Birkin keeps going off on tangents about random things that infiltrate his life.**

If he did, what would change?

**He begins to talk about the young woman who was discussed on the radio, making speculations on what unfortunate soul met such a fate.**

Would he have killed? No, he was killed.

**We go out to lunch; Birkin's radio is on in his car. Discussions of the current biochemical experiments pepper the duration of the way to a restaurant, fashionably called "Food." The radio is only on for background noise, something that is disregarded. Well, that is until a name is spoken across the static filled medium. "Elizabeth Jones."**

What was going through his mind when he heard her name? We will never know; that's where he stopped writing on that page. I can try to elaborate, but it will only sound half-assed, won't it? I've experienced people leaving me, and I've experienced deaths. I haven't experienced loving someone and losing them though. I've experienced emptiness.

At first, I assume, he didn't even realize what it meant for her name to be coming out of the speaker of the car. At first, he didn't even connect the 'young woman' who had been assaulted with the current news. Then, it hit him, probably tore him apart, but here's where I am confused. Would Wesker keep face? Would he break down in agony? Would he go into rage? I can't know; he is somewhat of a mystery to me. I know that he was distraught; his handwriting for the next few pages is unordered, uneven, and clearly upset.

**They say they cannot find out who did it. They say that it was just a freak incident. They say that there was nothing anyone could do. They say that all I can do is keep strong. They say, they say, they say. They do nothing. Why, of all the people that this freak incident could have captured, did it have to be her? What kind of unseen force decided that she deserved that? People like to say "God just wanted one of his angels to come home." He is God; he can make his own. Perhaps he does not understand the importance of his job. He does not watch over us. He could have saved her, and so many of the men on this Earth could do better than him.**

He wasn't religious, but she was. He didn't mind, but now, it drove him crazy. It drove him crazy because this _thing_ that she believed would protect her, killed her. He was furious. He was heartbroken. He was lost.

** But there is no one that wants to hear about my problems. I must keep face, and no one must know. No one knows about Elizabeth and I, and that was to keep her away from the sketchy activities of Umbrella. I kept her out of my affiliations, so why did she have to suffer? What decides who lives and who dies? Why should that thing be able to control with people's lives?**

It was unfair, and he knew that. He kept quiet, kept face. Why didn't he tell anyone? Would he still have been on the crazy train if someone knew what he was going through? No one helped him because he wouldn't let them.

**I am worthless.**

He lived for her, and when she was gone, his life shattered.

**I could not even protect her.**

She was truly in danger from the start; he wasn't his own human. Oswell E. Spencer _owned_ him.

**I could have...**

He couldn't have stopped anything.

** Love is quite a cruel thing. It may magnanimous, but it is only that when it wants to be cruel. This amalgamation of frustrating helplessness is crippling, and all I can do is continue biochemical experimentation. Sad, quite very sad. I would rather pull myself away from emotions and work than face that. Face going home to an empty apartment, face the police telling me what happened, face the fact that I was not able to help.**

If only he truly knew, what happened to Elizabeth Jones, but he didn't. He fell onto his ass and couldn't find the means to get up again. Why would he?

–iii–

"May I ask a question?" Sherry asked as she sat on the stools in front of the breakfast bar counter-top.

"You already have." I responded while scavenging through my refrigerator. The only thing that outlasted the almost end of the world adventure was beer.

"Right, how did you get the scar on your face?" She fell silent.

"What, is my face not pretty enough?" I joked.

"I was just –"

"I'm a gun for hire, and my first job – ha-ha – almost ripped my face off." I leaned on the refrigerator door.

"Doesn't sound like much to laugh at."

"It isn't, but it's got a nice nostalgic fear to it. In hindsight, my first job wasn't half as bad as the behemoth who almost drilled his entire arm through me."

"Thank you."

"I didn't think story time was something to be thankful for."

"I was thanking you for protecting me, and –"

"Well, it was worth fifty million."

"Right," I felt her eyes on my back.

"Does beer satisfy you? If it doesn't, I can go out and get something else."

"No, that's fine." I handed her a beer, and her eyes locked with mine. "Jake, I..."

"Don't like beer?"

"No, the beer is fine, but I've had some stuff on my mind which keeps me from sleeping lately."

"Anyway that I can relieve your mind? My mind is open."

"You'll think this is ridiculous, but I find myself watching you with a keen eye."

"Do I live up to expectations, super girl?"

"You exceed it by far, and I kind of have a little attachment to you."

"Cool."

"Jake, you're one of the few people that doesn't avoid me, after you've found out about my G-Virus situation."

"It's no big deal."

–iii–

I remember the feeling of her hands on my skin, brushing over scars that I had long forgotten. Her fingers pressing into my back as she called out my name. Her eyes clouding with lust. Her breathing catching in her throat. I remember the feeling of her skin and waking up to an empty bed. I know the feeling of loving and being left behind by Sherry Birkin.

**A/N:** Thank you for all the support so far!

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

I walk into the bar and am bombarded with the thick, crowded air. Music is still blaring in my ears, and people are coincidentally in the way. Making my way over to the bar, I get shoved left and right because some people refuse to move, so instead, they move me instead. This walk of shoving is kind of pissing me off and making the bar seem further than before.

"For Christ's sake, move for two goddamn seconds!" Maybe I don't have the best temper control, but they were asking for it.

"What was 'at?" A man asks as he looks at me.

"I said move your ass; you're in the way!"

"You think a kid like you can take on me?"

"I've fought things significantly larger than you. Ya' know what they say, right? 'Go big or go home?'" He lunges forward, and before I can even begin to fight back, Redfield stands up from a table.

–iv–

**I want to lie in the ground, six feet under. While it is true that I am very occupied, I still find my mind wandering off down memory lane. Since Elizabeth's unfortunate demise, Doctor Marcus has procured a line of experiments involving the Ebola virus. That and we were able to move. The original facility was shut down, and to be frank, it is easier to get over some things when you leave them behind. Arklay Laboratory shows promise, but this is probably because everyone else here is quite basic. We are in the foothills next to a small town called Raccoon City.**

Raccoon City, better known as Hell on Earth, but maybe that was after Wesker had been moved to Arklay Laboratory. There is no doubt that in my mind that he had something to do with how Raccoon City fell apart. If Wesker and Umbrella weren't there, then there would be _no_ Raccoon City. Umbrella dominated their economy. Like the CDC but corrupt to shit, the Arklay Laboratory researched and tested the Ebola virus, which had been discovered two years prior.

** Easily enough, this research is for a vaccine.**

Marcus must have told him that it was for a vaccine, and like Wesker, the public was told the same. In truth, the CDC was the one looking for the creation of a vaccine, and Umbrella was the one looking for the creation of a new virus.

**Marcus plans for this project to be completed in 1998, but I believe with Birkin and I working fastidiously that we can finish it earlier than 1998. I still think about Elizabeth, and she plagues my dreams. I wonder, how much longer will this hurt?**

It doesn't go away, but I guess that he learned that on his own._"I love you, Jake. I'm so sorry to have to leave you like this. Please forgive me...Stay strong."_ It never goes away; you learn to live with it, regardless of how much it hurts. As for me, it took weeks, months, years. There were weeks where money was wasted on flowers everyday to be put on a grave. There were months of insomnia and years of self blame. I grew distant from other people and did everything for money.

** I find solace in drinking with Birkin after work. He always gets wasted while I am occasionally granted with a buzz. When I get buzzed, I actually can sleep; strangely, insomnia does not hinder my abilities as much as I would have thought. Along with this Spencer believes that I should take some time off now and again, learn martial arts. He believes there is danger everywhere, and that is important to be able to defend oneself, with or without a gun, preferably the second one.**

Everyone should know a little self defense, but in most cases, one doesn't need to know everything about it. Once again, we find Spencer manipulating Wesker, most likely for further progression.

**Testing begins soon, but I am in the researching department and know nothing of the form and process of testing. If I am correct, our motives were falsely advertised. All those in Raccoon City will be disappointed to learn that the Southeast Coast will have the virus vaccinated and subdued, yet here there will be no vaccination.**

Naive indeed. Wesker thought that all that mattered was finishing the project and never once asked what would happen, but I guess he found out when they finished. When they finished, Raccoon City was destroyed.

–iv–

"Jake," Redfield calls from his table.

"What the hell are you doing here, Redfield?"

"A friend of mine said this was one of the few places in Edonia to get a decent steak. Looks like he was right." He smiles at some sort of reminiscent thought.

"Right, where's your puppy? Did he grow up into a big dog like you?" He stares at the table.

"Sure, we'll go with that." He feigns a smile. "Anyways, you and I need to leave; we can't have you looking like crap when Sherry gets here, can we?"

"Sherry?" I've just come to terms with things being the way they are, but now, she's coming back...

"Yes, Sherry Birkin. Leon said she was done filing reports with her supervisors and is heading back here to thank you for your help. They've created a vaccine for the C-virus, and all will return to normal."

"Oh, how long will she be here?"

"A week maybe, I'm not quite sure."

"So basically, don't get attached, it's just to make sure you didn't do something stupid." Redfield nods.

–iv–

**Madeline Nurik, I did not mean to meet her on purpose. I never meant to meet anyone when I went into the city, which really is not a city. Or at least not a major city. With a population of around 100,000. Anyhow, Madeline Nurik is a mistake of a friend, but her companionship is somewhat comforting and eases my depression in the slightest. She is an odd young woman and nothing like Elizabeth.**

Like I said, Elizabeth was a big part of his life.

**Madeline's eyes are a captivating mixture of green and blue. She has the figure of a model and the face of an angel. **

He was quick to fall for women.

**Birkin has asked if we could spend the evening together as a double date. His girlfriend, Annette, him, Madeline, and I** **end up going to a restaurant. Black tie occasion. Madeline wears a red summer dress that stops at her knees; Annette wears a steel blue halter dress that goes down to her knees. Birkin and I are in button ups, black slacks, and ties, much like our daily attire.**

Maybe it was desperation that kept him next to Madeline that night. Maybe it was the realization that he had to move on. Maybe he didn't care at all. Maybe.

**It was a delightful dinner really. The food was nice, and the conversation flourished. Madeline turned out to be wondrous company, and I loved listening to her tangents. Perhaps, I am a bit infatuated with her. Most likely not. **

He was still a foolish young man at the time.

–iv–

"I have my bike." I interject as Redfield assumes I need a ride.

"Well, do you know where the BSAA headquarters is?" Redfield asks.

"Yes, I met you there the other day."

"Right, and about the other day, did you read the journal?"

"No, why would I?" I lie.

–iv–

** I have dreams of Elizabeth. I have dreams of lying in bed with her, running my hands through her hair. Her head rests on my chest, and she makes a comment on how our hearts sync up over a short period of time. "It's only takes a few seconds. You don't believe me; do you?" She looks at me with those light blue eyes. "I've checked it every time." I laugh and agree with her. She kisses me as I roll her onto her back. I lean on my elbows, and her hands run through my hair. My eyes close, and I wake up to an empty bed and a white ceiling.**

There would be lots of these moments for him; he didn't write anymore about it. I just know because... Did he ever think about Mom? Did he ever think about how much he hurt her?

**Then, there are the nightmares. I have nightmares of only being able to watch her suffer. It traumatizes me.**

He would never forget; how could he?

**A/N:** Once again, I thank those who reviewed, favored, and followed; I am grateful for your support.

~FromPrussiaWithLove


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

It's hard to look her in the eyes again, or, I think it will be. I haven't spent much time thinking about it to be completely honest, but the fact that she's in the other room makes it kind of hard to ignore anymore. I can hear muffled discussions between Redfield and her. I want to apologize, even though I did nothing wrong.

–v–

** It has only been a mere four years; Birkin and I have already examined the Ebola virus from every angle. All that is left is produce this 'vaccine' that Umbrella has been promising. We have sixteen years to do that before our time is up. Birkin suggests that I take a vacation for a while, "seeing as we'll be isolating and testing for the next decade of our lives, we might as well take a well deserved break." I do not want a break though, and I state this with all clarity to him. "Well, go to Edonia or some other shithole on this Earth, so you appreciate just how good you've got it." Perhaps, I will.**

Edonia, could this be? Did he really know Mom for a decade before –?

** With a visit to Elizabeth's grave and a passport in hand, I walk onto a plane with the most confidence that I can collect. Planes make me uneasy, but that is possibly the side-effect of never traveling quite far from home. I am fairly loath to board a boat or plane. Man was not made to fly, so he sent a giant hunk of metal up instead.**

Edonia, how it must of disappointed a high horse like Wesker.

**I will not hide my resentment towards this godforsaken country. Yes, it is comforting to be able to exercise my knowledge of the Germanic language, but it is quite frustrating with all the people's dialects. I speak precise, accurate German, and they butcher the hell out of their own language. How disappointing.**

And I would say linguistics Nazi, but well, he was kind of beyond a Nazi.

**I ask a shop owner where to find a place to sleep, and he sends me in circles. It is quite the irritation to deal with all of this while Birkin gets to enjoy his break with his fiancée. As an evident joke, all the locals keep sending me to this building with a fancy facade but obviously hidden intentions.**

Basically, a whore house, but once again, he was too high horse to say that.

**A woman brushes my shoulder as she walks into the building. Her light brunette hair bounces down her back as she rushes into the odd building. Normally, I avoid strangers, but something feels familiar about her. My feet deliver me to the doorstep, and my hand turns the doorknob. A woman in a fur coat sits at a desk, and the walls are lined with some sort of velor fabric. The lighting is inefficient and dim, and the woman at the desk's cigarette smoke is irritating my nose. She glances at me and smiles like that cat from that fairy tale that I have never read, and I just stand.**

Madame Anya was her name, and I have met her in person. She was my mom's boss figure.

** "What's your preference? Virgins? Older women? Redheads? We have something for everyone." I find myself just staring at the cigarette in her hand, and how much that nicotine filled stick is truly irritating me. "Or do you prefer men?" Her eyes narrow in irritation. 'No, there was a girl who just walked in here. I wanted to know her name.' "Only for paying customers." What a business strategy. 'Fine,' I think about the young woman. 'A young brunette.' The woman smiles again as she stands up to go gather up her girls. She disappears through a door and reappears with six young brunette women. "Some of them are on the job at the moment."**

This was how they met, in a shady building in a broken country. My mom ran away from home when she was young and without money, ended up here.

**Five of the six women smile flirtatiously. One of them is looking down at her feet. Her hair is a light brown and lines her face. Her frame is thin; her complexion is fair. She does not seem to ****enjoy this job quite like the others. **

He was twenty-two; Mom was twenty.

** 'Her,' I decide. "Anita?" The woman asks while grabbing the young woman's arm. 'Yes,' I expect a hole in my pocket from this expense. "Five hundred per hour and fifty for every bruise and cut I find on her afterwards." 'Careful with our things are we?' "I can't have you men ruining my selection. I'd have nothing left then!" How can she market this beautiful woman?**

While everyone else is disgusted by my mom and her past, I would like to take the time and say that I admire her confidence and braveness. Crazy people go to those places and traumatize women, but she stayed there. Yes, it is quite an embarrassment to mention in public, but why doesn't anyone understand that she didn't want to be a whore. She used to tell stories about her dreams and how she never regretted anything. _"Regret limits how you live your life, so never regret and enjoy life and all its wonders."_

**I want someone to talk to. Although it is not the most ideal thing to be talking to a woman who turns tricks, but Birkin and Marcus are work and do not even know of Elizabeth's existence or importance. I begin to talk, and she listens. Her name is Anita Muller. **

–v–

"He's _here_?! Chris, I thought we talked about this..." I can hear Sherry insist.

"I didn't see why not; besides, he almost messed up some guy at the bar." Chris laughs at the thought.

"I came here to check on _you_."

"I'm fine, really."

"You're still regretting what happened in the underwater facility, aren't you?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Chris."

"Look, Sherry, just talk with Jake. You never know when or how you'll see them again. He's got a dangerous job, too, you know?"

"Chris," she falls silent.

"What happened between you two anyway? Claire said you were a bit different when you were in America; Leon said the same thing."

"Nothing," we just did _nothing._

"If he hurt you, then you can tell us."

"No, he did the exact opposite."

"How so?"

"He told me that he loved me."

**A/N:** Thank you for your support; it means a lot to me.

~FromPrussiaWithLove


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

It's just like in China; people are talking in hushed voices about me and how I am a mess. Maybe I made the mistake, you know, along with all the others. Yeah, it was a mistake.

"Is that a bad thing?" Redfield asks in an odd tone.

"I don't know, but Claire wishes you would visit her some time." Sherry changes the subject effectively, and now that I think about it, Redfield never talks about his sister.

"Sherry, you should know better than –"

"But isn't it a bit hypocritical? I'm not allowed to avoid Jake, but you're allowed to avoid your _own_ sister?" _Allowed_? Why is it so hard? I've heard enough, and I don't believe that the longer I wait will change her mind. As I walk out of the lobby into the hallway, I can hear Redfield hesitate for an answer, but he probably has his reasons. Sherry would probably be the same way if I asked her why she was avoiding me. Why is it so hard for me? I could – well, no – I _should_ because that always calms me down. I swing my leg over the seat of my bike, and my skin is already anticipating the feeling of the resistant wind. The sun is rising, and the lack of sleep has me wired.

With a bouquet of flowers in hand, I walk across the field covered in stone slabs. "Ha, remember when you would scold me for _wasting_ my money on _pointless_ things to make our apartment look like less of an eyesore? Well, this is my treat to you; it's been a long time, hasn't it, Mom?" I stop in front of a small grave which is labeled as the resting place of Anita Muller. I lean down and sit; my feet are flat on the ground which is a lot harder than I remember. But I'm probably taller now. "It's probably been years, and I think you'd be disappointed that I turned down forty-nine million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred fifty dollars. I'm such an idiot, but I miss you. A lot. Maybe I should have started being a merc earlier; I would have been bringing in the money sooner. And you would be alive because we'd be able to afford dumb shit like flowers." My eyes have that same burn that they did five years ago in this same field. "I guess that I'm still a little kid, crying for his mom." My elbows rest on my knees, and my arms cross. I rest my head on my arms. I'm not exhausted because I'm tired. I'm exhausted from all these people; I'm the equivalent of a human transit station. No one stays; they're always coming and going. Why is it so hard for people to stick around for a bit? A hand brushes my back, and instinctively, my gun is out, safety off, finger taunting the trigger, and aim on the target, Sherry. My finger flips the safety back, and I drop the gun to the ground.

"Chris said you might be here." She whispers which is kind of unnecessary since we're not in danger and no one's around.

"Redfield? I haven't been here in years though." It's true and kind of creepy that Redfield knew that I would be here.

"So, your mother, her name was Anita? That's pretty."

"Apparently, Wesker thought the same thing." The sarcasm just slips out of my mouth.

"Why is it so hard for you to look at your father as more than a disappointment?"

"_'__And please, don't hate your father. I'm sure he loves you and is thinking about you, and I know you two will find each other someday. Stay strong.' _I'm pretty sure, Sir Psycho didn't give half a damn about me or my mom."

"You memorized that?"

"Yeah, my mom tried so hard to tell me that my dad was the greatest person ever, but that just made it harder to believe. If she had to waste so much time to justify him, then clearly, he wasn't all that great before he left us."

"I get it; I finally understand you."

–vi–

** "Come with me to America." I do not quite remember what evoked this statement from my mouth. Anita stares at me as if she won the lottery. It is that good kind of shock. She laughs lightly. 'Albert, I honestly cannot tell when you are kidding sometimes.' It is hard to see sometimes, but now, it is painfully evident that she and I live in completely different worlds. "I am dead serious." Her eyes look at me, and there lies a fear of change underneath her exterior. 'But how? It's easier said than done.' She reminds me of Elizabeth, and I –**

Of course, she reminds you of Elizabeth so just bring her to America and dress her up like Elizabeth and change her name, too.

** 'I can't leave. If I go with you, who is to say that we won't just have sex, and you'll want me gone? I can't risk that.' She sits on the bed. 'Besides, you love someone else; I can see it in your eyes.' She falls silent and stares at her hands in her lap, and I find myself walking over to her. "Sex? I would never leave you." 'Says the man who I met a few days ago.' My hand tilts her head up, and our lips meet. "It does not matter how long that we have known each other but how long we spend together." She pulls me on top of her. 'Prove it. Prove to me that it won't just be one time and back to Edonia.' "Anything for you."**

My mom never mentioned America, aside from saying that she wanted to visit at least once in her lifetime, but who's to say that she _enjoyed_ America. Perhaps that's why she left it out.

** I think that I may truly love her.**

Yet, he left her anyway.

–vi–

"Really?" My eyes are bearing holes in her head.

"Sort of." Sherry fiddles with her fingers. "When my parents died, Claire was there, and then I met Chris. You had your mother and that was it."

"I got used to it."

"But you shouldn't have to get used to it, Jake; we're all human. We are made to feel, and you shouldn't have to bite the bullet while other people get to enjoy life carelessly."

"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm just fine and dandy."

"Jake."

"Don't worry about me, super girl. Worry about you're buddy, Redfield. He's a bit weird."

"Jake."

"And I don't harbor hatred towards my dad; I just harbor pity towards my mom, the one who waited until she died."

"Jake."

"Yes?"

"You can't solve your problems by building walls and pretending you're fine."

"What problems? I've got a great job, fifty bucks, and a motorcycle."

"I worry about you."

"Well, don't."

**A/N:** Once again, thank you very much for the support.

~FromPrussiaWithLove


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

"Jake," Sherry looks me straight in the eye. "I love you."

"It's a little too late for that, super girl." I stand up, place the flowers in front of the grave, and begin to walk away.

"Jake." I stop dead in my tracks.

"Look," I begin without turning around. "Sherry, I get it that you don't want to see me, but I don't want to be your back-up, go-to guy. I'm better on my own, and you said so yourself that you didn't want me around you. So I'm walking away because that's what you want me to do. Right?"

"It's complicated, but please –"

"No, my mom was the one to waste her life waiting, and I'm not going to do the same." And I could never look her in the eyes because then Sherry would see the chink in my armor: her. I would give anything to turn around, right now, but I know that she'll be gone in the morning. I don't want that. I'm not some object that can be used and forgotten. I don't know what the hell I'm doing or where I'm going in life. Let's all be honest; I'm the only idiot who can run in place this long without a single clue that I'm doing it.

"I waited everyday to come back here to see you." I don't – can't – leave her.

"Then _why_? Why the hell didn't you tell me that you were leaving? I was ashamed and felt like a dumbass because it's not easy to wake up to an empty bed and act like life is _great_. I don't have patience, and I don't trust people. I'm messed up; I know. But why did you leave without a single thought about me?" What is coming out of my mouth?

"I had no right to just leave, but I thought that I would be back earlier. I thought that maybe you wouldn't care that I was gone. I thought maybe after _all_ of what we went through; you would want me out of your life."

"So not even an attempt at communication."

"I couldn't come up with the courage to call you after it looked like I used you as a one night stand."

"Of course, but I meant it. I meant everything because nothing pisses me off more than a false commitment, but I assume it's hard to believe me because I'm a merc who kills people for money and uses women as advantages." Her arms find their way around my waist. "I'm inhumane and kill because I only want money."

"No, you helped me. You _saved _me and the world." Her head is presses against my back. "When will you open yours eyes? Jake Muller, you are a hero and the best role model of a man. How many people would turn down fifty million dollars after saving the entire world? When will you see that you are not as sickening and vile as you think you are? I thought that it was selfish of me to want to ignore my job and stay with you, and perhaps it is. But you need someone, Jake. You can't keep walking around through life like this."

"Thanks, now what are your hourly rates for this therapy session?" My voice wavers, and my feet begin to move as my body breaks away from her. There is no hope for her and me. My eyes burn, and I'm just digging myself a giant hole that maybe brings me to the burning hot core of the Earth.

–vii–

** [Anita] agreed to come to America which is amazing, but return to America means returning to the lab and working long hours. How do I go about explaining this to her?**

Waiting for Wesker to come home from work wasn't as hard as waiting for him to come back to Edonia.

** It turns out that I have several weeks, if not months, of long hour days ahead of me. I can only hope that Anita will stay with me for this distant time, and I dread the very thought that I could arrive home to an empty house.**

So maybe that's where I got my issues with trust from.

** However, on the rare occasion, I get a day off, and those are always quite wonderful. Spending a day with her is always blissful, and she always has her own glow to her. If it were possible, I would give her the world, but we all know that is completely illogical. That is why she is so amazing; everything is illogical. With her, illogical or not, it does not matter. **

Wesker, the scientist, enjoying something illogical? How much power did my mom have over him?

** She knows how to mollify my mind and relieve stress. I wish that I could repay the favor, but I am not quite as skilled as she. At night, she often hums a tune subconsciously.**

I wonder if it's the same tune that she used to sing to me when I was a little kid; I wonder if she only sang it to comfort her loneliness without Wesker. I wonder if I was just a second-rate version of my dad.

** She begins to worry about issues such as citizenship and marriage. I am all for her gaining citizenship, but personally, I am unsure about marriage. We are young, so what is the rush to get married?**

And that's the sign that lead to my mother being back in Edonia.

–vii–

When I return to my apartment, I open Wesker's journal and begin flipping through the pages; I don't know why. A picture falls out of the pages and into my lap, and there she is, Mom. Wesker is in the picture too, and it's odd. People paint him as an emotionless demon, but he's smiling in this picture. Both of them are smiling, and he's holding her hand. I turn the picture around to find 'never forget, you are not a monster' scrawled on the back in my mom's handwriting. A few pages back, another picture is wedged between pages. It's one of my mom in bed and smiling at the camera; the writing on the back is hers and reads 'I love you.' Pictures are followed by unopened letters, and one of them is from me. I remember when she died that I sent a letter to the address that she was always sending letters to. The envelope is torn unevenly; the letter's ink is smeared with exposure to water, tears perhaps. The letter is harsh, but then, I didn't know that he was my dad and thought all he needed to know that she was dead. More pictures are scattered throughout the notebook. All of them are of her, and all of them have little messages written in her handwriting. I can only assume that he never wanted to let her go, which ruins the idea that he left her.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8.**

When I was seven, my mom told me about my dad. I've never seen her smile so much or that happy in my life. That was when I believed her and thought that he would actually come home. When I was ten, I started to doubt everything; how could my dad be so great if he had ignored my mom and me for ten years? _"Your father loves you." 'Bullshit! If he gave two shits, then where is he?!'_ I made her cry, and I felt even worse than my dad. The last thing that I wanted to do was hurt her like he did.

–viii–

**I could say that I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, but that is a childish metaphor that does not serve a purpose for me. This is my job, and I must carry through.**

Seems we both have that problem; except, I kill people. Wesker made them suffer.

**Lisa Trevor, I can only imagine the suffering that you are enduring, yet I continue my work and pretend that there is a reason that you are the subject and I am not. It is a hard thing to do, and this feeling of disgust crawls beneath my skin. I don't understand how Birkin and Marcus can dehumanize her. How can Birkin do this and then go home to his fiancee without a care in the world?**

Lisa Trevor and her mom were taken as test subjects back before Wesker was even born, so Lisa had suffered for too long for you to just pity her.

**It crosses my mind on a daily basis that perhaps this is the time to end her suffering, but we all know that will not happen. So day after day, she will suffer because of monsters like Birkin and me. The worst of it all? I worry, and it truly gets to me and eats away at my conscience. What if it happened to Anita? It would be my fault. I have nightmares and panic about the possibilities, and I can't tell her anything. If I could, she would leave. **

Well shit, anyone would leave if they knew you were injecting people with viruses for work; anyone would call you a sick son of a bitch and walk out the door.

**Anita is making dinner since I was allowed to go home early, and I sit at the table, staring out the window at the birds on the trees. "I am a monster." And I want her to agree and say that she hates me. I want her to blame me. She does not hesitate. 'You're not a monster, Albert.' She walks over with two bowls of homemade soup. 'Please don't say that; it's not healthy to be hard on yourself for no reason.' She has no idea, and I want to tell her. "I have done too many disgraceful things." She looks at me and pauses for a bit. 'If you are trying to get me to leave, you don't have to lie about yourself. You have shown me nothing but kindness, so how can I believe that you are a monster?' "I am." 'I don't think so. You don't have razor sharp teeth and talons or anything crazy like that. Give me a reason to think that you are a monster.' "I can only hurt you." 'That is up to me to decide.' **

So did she just get fed up and leave? Why did she leave him? It's obvious that he didn't leave her after all.

** "One more dose." I repeat, reminding myself that this is almost over for the day. Lisa is beyond hideous, and her deformed figure is a horrifying sight. She stares at me while she sits motionless. Birkin is in the other room collecting papers to turn in our research. My hands prepare the syringe, and she is still staring at me. As I approach, she backs away like always, but for some unknown reason, she lunges towards me and slashes away at my coat. 'No...more...hurts...so...lots...' The syringe slipped out of my hands, and at the same time the door busted open. Lisa keels over, and Birkin is holding a tranquilizing gun. We are the monsters.**

Well, in truth, all of humanity are monsters.

** Returning home is quite a blessing. However, home is empty.**

How long did it take before he lost it?

**I check every room again, and each empty room fills my being with doubt. Was she kidnapped? Did she leave? Is she okay? Is there a reason why she left me? Where is she now? What did I do? The front door shuts, and my body is sprinting towards the door. There she is, standing with two large paper bags of groceries in her arms. I am so very relieved.**

He over-thought too much.

–viii.v–

** I have honestly never celebrated Christmas for my entire life, but I feel like this year is the year to try. **

I thought New Year's was the time to try new things.

**I wake up somewhat early, but I guess that is normal since I leave considerably early to go to the lab. Anita is sleeping, and as I much as I would like to be here when she wakes, I plan to make her breakfast in bed. After slipping out of bed in a usually quiet fashion, I meander into the kitchen. Then a problem occurs; I have no idea what she eats for breakfast. I always leave before she wakes up, so I guess, according to the contents of our refrigerator, I will make the generic eggs and bacon with orange juice.**

My mom used to really like waffles.

**After a short period of time, a pair of arms wrap around my waist. 'Good morning, I'll make breakfast.' She has a bit of what is categorized as bedhead and is wearing one of my shirts. "Good morning, I was planning on surprising you with breakfast, but it seems that you have beaten me to my own surprise."**

Seriously though, she liked waffles...

**"I have a gift for you." She looks at me as realization dawns on her. 'You shouldn't have.' "I should have, so I did." I reach over the counter behind the shelf to procure a white box with a red ribbon tied into a bow. "That, and Birkin invited us to attend his Christmas party; that is only if you want to." She gingerly handles the box. 'I can't even begin to thank you enough, Albert.' "It's nothing really." I assure. 'It's more than you think.' She rests her hands on the box and closes her eyes. 'I've never really celebrated Christmas my entire life. My parents were atheists and didn't believe in frivolously wasting money. No one's ever given me a gift out of sheer kindness. I can't thank you enough.' She carefully unwraps the ribbon and opens the box; slowly pulling back the thin sheets of white tissue paper, a Prussian blue dress comes to light. "If you don't like it, I can –" 'I love it.'**

If I remember correctly, Prussian blue is just a fancy way of saying dark blue, and if that's true, then I've seen the dress that is in question. It was always hidden in the back of Mom's closet, and I thought it was because she hated it. But she kept saying 'it's only there because I've never found a reason to wear it yet.' I still think that she hated it.

** Birkin's party turns out to be a coworkers thing, and everyone is here with their high horse husbands and wives with all their designer dresses and suits. Anita does not seem to like the way this party is turning out. All the women are like Annette, proud of work they did not do, and they keep patronizing Anita. Birkin hands me a beer, a Stella Artois. Someone is trying to look classy. I can overhear Annette and her group of coworkers' wives. 'Someone is too undressed for this party.' 'It's like Wesker is trying to make us ridicule him.' 'You're just a play-toy until he finally gets a hard-working wife.' And still, Anita smiles, pretending that these women are not pulling her apart. 'Where do you think she came from anyway?' 'Well, I heard he went to Edonia, and you know how that country is with prostitution.' 'You think she's a prostitute?' 'Well, duh.' 'You think she could give us some tips?' 'What are you stupid?' 'She's probably ridden with STDs.' Anita just smiles.**

What kind of man let's women talk that way about his girl?!

** I have heard enough. "Excuse my intrusion, ladies, but I would like to point out that of all the women present tonight, Anita has shown the best etiquette. It really is not nice to be gossiping at such a wonderful party on such a holy day. And –" Annette walks over to me; her fingertip is pressed into my chest. 'Now hold on a minute, Wesker! _You_ are the one who brought a _whore_ to this party. We all know where she came from, so what are you paying her to pose as your girlfriend?! You disgust me; to think that William has to deal with you everyday!' Anita begins to walk towards the door. "No, Annette, I am not paying her to stay here. I love her, and I honestly do not give a shit about what she used to do. If you love someone, you should not have to choose by their past occupations." The sound of liquid hitting the floor splashes in the background, the sound of women laughing soon follows. Anita's eyes catch mine; she is beyond upset. She can not keep face and wants to run, and I am the only thing keeping her here, in this embarrassment. She begins to speed walk out of the room, but her walk turns into a run. Her hair trails behind her. **

My mom used to always keep face while being ridiculed.

** My hand drops the bottle of beer, and my body lunges into a run. She is a few blocks away from Birkin's house. Her hair is wet as well as her dress. "I apologize for the lack of human decency in all of those people." She is crying, and I wish that I had the initiative in preventing the banter of all the other women. **

She used to keep face in front of all her offenders, but in secret, she would cry her eyes out. Life was never easy for her, and her dignity was destroyed.

** 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm not like those women. I'm sorry that I'm a prostitute. I'm sorry that I –" I slip off my blazer and wrap it around her shoulders. "You look cold; how about we head home?" She looks at me in shock. 'But what about Birkin and your reputation?' "Who cares? I do not need to impress them; if anything, they should impress me, especially after the lack of etiquette that they displayed tonight!" 'Take your coat; you'll be cold.' She begins to pull the blazer from her shoulders. "I'll get used to it."**

Is that where my uber need to adapt to things came from?

–viii.v–

I'm not very fond of Christmas. As in 'fond,' I guess 'like' would be a better word. Bad things happen on Christmas. When I was ten, my mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness. When I was fifteen, she died. When I was seventeen, my best friend was assassinated for someone else's revenge. I am twenty and stuck reading the fucked up mind of Albert Wesker, and Sherry Birkin left me for good because I have issues.

–viii.v–

**'I'm sorry that I already got the dress so dirty.' Anita apologizes for the millionth time. "It is fine; I will wash it when we get home or get it dry-cleaned tomorrow. Whichever you prefer." **

She always apologized even when it was someone else's fault.

** She lies down next to me, and my hand rests on the curve of her waist. My chin rests on her head. "Merry Christmas, Anita." She turns over to face me. 'I never gave you your Christmas present.' She presses her body into mine. 'I apologize; all I can give is myself.' I kiss from her lips to her collarbone. "I love your gift, almost as much as I love you." Her hands caress my chest underneath my undershirt. 'I love you, Albert Wesker, and I will love you for as long as I live.'**

Normally, people just say that when they want to sound romantic and committed, but she really meant it. She loved him until the end, and she probably loved him for even longer if that's even possible.

**Her bare skin touches mine as we lie awake. 'Albert?' "Yes?" 'I've been thinking about when you said you were a monster.' "Yes, what about it?" 'You're only a monster as long as you let people call you that. As long as you keep saying you're a monster like some kind of mantra, you will always see yourself as that. I don't want you to do that to yourself, but I can't make you believe me. You need to choose for yourself.' I do not know how to choose. I can not tell if it would be wise to do so, and I do not like taking chances.**

_"Jake, you're not messed up. You're nothing like your father." _Wesker had it hard, and I sadly can relate. Sherry was my conscience and kept me down to Earth, kept my dignity, kept me in check, and made me believe, but she was wrong. I am like my father.

**A/N:** Late [which I apologize for]. Happy Chanukah (Hanukah, Hanukkah), Merry Christmas, and Happy Kwanza! Or Happy [all other] Holidays! And I apologize for being late on this, but I really do appreciate all of the support that is given to this story.

~FromPrussiaWithLove


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9.**

I had a life in Edonia, before saving the world, before knowing about my father, before Redfield voluntarily offered to let me shoot his head off, before Sherry, before that bitch Ada gave me those 'energy boosts.' What to do now? After all of this, how do I just reappear on the map? I guess we start with square one: Lily. I still remember her number without having to look it up, but it's only been five months. So it's not quite impressive.

"Jake?!" Five months' absence, she's going to kill me.

"Hey, how's it going?" I try the casual route.

"I don't know, _Jake_. _How is it going_? One minute, you can't get enough of me. The next, Fynn is dead, and you're nowhere to be found. They actually thought that _you_ killed _Fynn_!"

"Look, I'm sorry; just – well – shit happened." I guess that is the only way to say it truthfully.

"You could have at least called; everyone said that you ran away with another woman." Well, that's because I did.

"Come on, Lily. Don't say that." Go on, Jake, lie to her.

"I want to see you."

"I'll be there." Time to forget the past five months.

Before I know it, I'm standing in front of a townhouse and can't find the reason to knock. My hand hovers in front of the wood, and the door opens before I can hit it. She probably heard my bike. Her honey brown eyes search me from head to toe. Her arms pull me into an unfamiliar embrace, and I bury my face in her soft, brunette hair. She pulls away only to kiss me, and for a second, I forget why I came, why she mattered, why she was kissing me of all people. This is my life, before the almost end of the world. I kiss her back, and her hands press against my shoulder-blades while pulling me into her townhouse.

–ix–

**It is quite amazing how many events can take place within such a short time. Within the past year, Birkin has proposed, married, and had a child with Annette. Birkin and I have discovered a new virus, promptly named the 'T-Virus,' originally named the Tyrant. My patience has grown thin though; Lisa Trevor must be killed. Perhaps that is the kindest thing that one can do from this point on, but instead of acknowledging my concerns, Spencer demands Marcus' death. He simply wants him dead and does not care how. Birkin devises that we jump him as he leaves the laboratory. I simply think a man like Marcus can be disposed of in a more simple, less troublesome manner. I suggest Ricin, and Birkin knows exactly how to make that. "So the plan? You make the Ricin; I slip it into his coffee. And no more Marcus." 'Right, but he wouldn't be suspicious of you randomly asking to get him coffee?' "No, I get him coffee now and then anyway." 'Perfect.' **

Ricin is toxic as fuck. I was hired to stick it in some guy's drink, and the guy downed the drink no problem but minutes later, was on the ground with the symptoms of a seizure.

** How is it that I can discuss murder without a single regret? I am a monster. I drop my coat on the floor of the apartment as I sit in a chair by the table. I bury my face in my hands. How can I be so far gone? Murder should frighten anyone, but I have no problem. Why? A pair of hands touch my shoulders, causing me to jump. 'You're home late.' Her hands begin to massage my shoulders. 'You seem stressed; tell me about it.' She kisses the side of my face. 'Oh, a man came by here today, asking for you.' My body grows cold. "What was his name?" 'He said it was Spencer.' "What did he say?" 'He just asked if I knew what you did for an occupation, and I said you worked for a pharmaceutical company, finding vaccines. He laughed and walked away; it was quite strange.' I turn around and kiss her; my hand is on her neck. 'Albert,' I do not want to hear about Spencer's name from her. "Spencer is my boss."**

He knew that she was in danger by being with him.

**"Anita," she looks at me; I have never met anyone with such kindness. "I need to tell you about someone who was very important to me." She smiles. 'I'm hear to listen to whatever you have to say.' "Thirteen years ago, I worked somewhere else, and I was dating a girl named Elizabeth Jones. She was like me and did not know her parents. She – um, she was killed by some psycho on her way home from work, and I –" Her brows knit together in confusion. 'Albert, you can't blame yourself for her getting hurt. Unless you were the psycho.' "No, I was not, but –" 'But nothing, accidents happen, and you can't blame yourself. I don't know what it is, but you need to stop dehumanizing yourself. You're not a monster; you're only human.' Why does she waste so much time on a wretch like me?**

She spent time because she loved you; for a scientist, you're kind of a dumbass.

–ix–

Lily leads me up the metal, spiral stairs up to a loft-like area. She kisses me and pulls me onto the bed with her, onto the bed that she dragged me to the store to pick out the sheets for. This is how I forget about all of it, by going back to where I used to be. I take the initiative and roll on top of her. My hands are above her head, supporting my body, and she leans up to kiss me again. But I can't. I don't want to forget the past five months. I don't want to forget Sherry or J'avo or sitting in that abandoned cabin during the blizzard. I don't want to go back to how things were.

"You love her." Lily whispers.

"Hmmm?" Her intuition is as sharp as a knife.

"You met someone didn't you, a woman." She fakes a smile. "Then why are you here? Why aren't you with her?"

"I don't know."

–ix–

** Marcus stares at his notes without moving, but occasionally, he writes a few things here and there, correcting old hypotheses. I stand in the doorway, waiting. Birkin keeps giving me a look, asking why I haven't approached Marcus at all. He did his part, and it is bugging the ever-living hell out of him that my part has yet to be fulfilled. "Doctor Marcus." I call from the doorway, trying to sound casual. 'Wesker?' He does not turn away from his notes. 'Well, what is it?' He sounds irritated that I have bothered him. "Would you like more coffee? I was just about to brew some and was wondering if you would like a refill." He holds his mug up. 'Sure, you know how I like it.' He never once looks at me, and I am grateful for that. If he had looked at me, would he be able to see the fear and anxiety in my eyes? My hand takes his mug, and I quickly make my way out of the room and into the lounge.**

From all the stuff that I've heard about Wesker, it's hard to believe that he'd have trouble killing one man.

** "You are sure that it is completely tasteless and undetectable?" I ask as I hold Marcus' cup of coffee out towards Birkin. 'Well, Wesker, I haven't tried it myself, so I wouldn't know. I've heard that it is flavorless and undetectable though.' He sighs out of irritation. 'I also know that I mixed this up perfectly, so if it doesn't work, then Marcus is not human.' He pours a packet of the lethal chemical into the cup of coffee, and I quickly stir the chemical into the coffee. I carefully make my way to Marcus' office. "Doctor Marcus." I call from the door. 'Yes, Wesker, you can come into my office with my coffee; you don't need permission for that. You've never done that before anyways.' I just feel like I need permission this time; I feel like he is inviting me to kill him. I hand him the mug of coffee, and he begins to drink it and continues to do so as if nothing has changed. Birkin drags me into the lab within seconds of exiting Marcus' office. 'Now, we just have to wait.' "I am going home." 'Hey, you care more about that prostitute than I care about my family; what is tha–" I do not know what came over me, but my hand grips his collar and yanks at his tie. His back is slammed against the wall, and his head is forced to look at me. "Her name is Anita, and she is not a prostitute." His eyes are filled with some form of fear. 'Look, Wesker, I didn't mean it; geez, calm down.' My hand loosens its grip, and I pull away. "Sorry, I just –" 'Whatever, see you tomorrow, goodnight.'**

My mom just had all the guys fighting for her didn't she? First, she had Wesker, and then she had me. It's never easy to hear someone call your mom a prostitute, a whore, a slut, a home wrecker. It's never easy to hold your temper when you grow up like that.

**I open the apartment door to the sound of Anita singing, and even after all the gruesome events that happened today, a smile finds its way across my face. I kick my shoes off at the door, drop my coat on the table, and make my weary way towards the bedroom. "I am home, and I need to take a shower." Anita looks at me as she walks out of the bathroom. 'You look tired; maybe you should shower in the morning.' She has given up on asking me to take a day off, and that is a given. "No, I will take a ten minute shower and go to bed, if you do not mind." She frowns a little. 'Of course, I don't; I just want you to get the most rest possible.' "You are too kind to me." She smiles and closes the door to the bathroom behind her. 'Enjoy your shower.'**

I've always been fascinated by the fact that my mom was a prostitute; in movies, all the prostitutes are shameless or sex addicts or both. She was a modest woman, who held a certain air of kindness. She was somewhat of a rare type of person.

**I open the door of the bathroom, and a blast of cold air hits me in the face. The room is dark and faintly lit by the light from the bathroom. My hand flicks off the bathroom light as I walk into the bedroom. I cautiously move about, feeling my way around the room. Finally, I lift the comforter of the bed up as I sit on my respective side. I lie down and stare at the ceiling of the apartment. The silence is cold, and I turn my head to face Anita, well, her back. She sleeps on her side and always faces the bedroom door; perhaps that is a habit that has developed due to my late returns from work. Or perhaps, she has done that all her life. I would prefer the former reason to be why. My hand extends to touch her back, but I decide against it. 'Albert, sometimes, I fear that we are growing further and further apart, but maybe, I'm just being selfish and childish.' I remain silent. 'But I'll always be childish. I ran away from home because I didn't want to marry someone, and my mother always said that I was being a selfish brat by denying a man my hand in marriage. Perhaps she is right.' "No, you are the most mature, understanding woman that I have ever met. Please, do not doubt yourself because you are the one that keeps me sane in this world. Without you, I believe that I would be the most lost man on this earth."**

I feel like he read this out of a Dove chocolate wrapper or something.

–ix–

"Hello?" I answer my phone.

"Hey Muller, it's Axel." He sounds like I never left, which I suppose is good.

"'Sup?"

"Get your ass on that fancy crotch-rocket of yours and get to work."

"Ha-ha, my girl isn't a crotch-rocket, you dumbass."

"Right, I forgot how much you love that thing. Anyway, new target's name is Alex Schey."

"How much is on his head?"

"Well, _she_ has racked up quite the list of enemies, and the local police department wants her A.S.A.P., so you know the drill. Bring her in, and they'll give you your money."

"No shit, I was gone for five months; I didn't forget the process of the job."

"Right, good to have you back, and you need to come down to HQ for fight night, just like old times. Some new guys think that they can best you. Ha-ha, I can't wait to see you whoop their asses." The line goes dead.

"Yeah, just like old times..." I slide the phone into my pocket as I start up my bike. Like old times, I receive a text with all the details on catching Ms. Alex Schey.

**A/N:** I appreciate all of your support and was considering starting another story that parallels this one with Anita's view, but that may come later when this story is further along.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10.**

Axel wants to hold a fight night, which isn't a problem. I like them, and it'll help raise up some revenue that I stupidly turned down. It won't be as fun seeing as the Edonian Liberation Army is on its last legs, but at least it still exists. I arrive late to HQ, and everyone's already riled up. I pull Schroder – a shorter man with shaggy brown hair – over, and he's got the look of pure amazement on his face.

"Did you see the new guy?! He's fucking awesome!" Schroder jeers like a kid.

"No, what's his name?" I have to shout to get heard over the cheers.

"It started with a C, but man, Jake, you _have _to fight him. That would be _amazing_!"

"Sure, he can't be that hard to beat."

"He's built though..."

"I'm faster."

"True." The cheering is continuous, and somehow, I'm shoved into the clearing of the crowd. I look up, expecting to find some conceited ass-hat, but as our eyes meet, it hits me. His name starts with a C, and he's built. _Redfield._

"What are you doing here? You have puppies to train and dogs to feed."

"I came on a personal visit." He laughs calmly.

–x–

**Marcus arrives at work as usual, and Birkin almost has an aneurism at the sight of him. Birkin is quite the jumpy character. 'Are you sure you gave him the coffee?! Are you sure he drank it?!' He is in my face accusing me of being inadequate. "I gave him the coffee, and he drank it all. You said yourself that we just have to wait. I will check on him." I push Birkin out of my face and make my way to Marcus' office to find Marcus throwing up in his trash can.**

And the symptoms of Ricin appear.

**"Sir, do you need anything?" He does not talk, just focuses on his task at hand. His vomit quickly devolves to dry heaving. He looms over the trash can. 'Rancid food.' He mentions without a single suspicion of poison.**

Well, no normal person would say 'Oh shit, Ricin poisoning!'

** He keels over, and his body begins to shake beyond his control. He struggles to grab my sleeve. 'He...lp...me...' Birkin runs into the office and observes the death of Doctor Marcus. Perhaps within those dying breaths, he understood that we were not going to help, that we would just watch as he suffered, that he was going to die. A few minutes after Marcus' demise, a voice emits from the intercom. 'Good work, boys. I'll handle the rest, and you can go home.' A voice that sounded like Oswell E Spencer.**

–x–

"If I win, you leave." I hiss.

"If I win, you tell me why you're so reluctant to care." I've honestly never seen Redfield fight, but I've heard he's strong. But he looks a bit slow.

"Deal."

"I won't play dirty and knock out your weak shoulder."

"What weak shoulder?" He wouldn't be able to find it anyway.

"It's the left one. You hold your gun with your right, and when you shoot with one hand, it's always the right. You only punch with your right." He lunges forward, and I kick his leg out from under him, causing him to lose his balance. This will be easy. I punch him in the left cheek. "Just as I thought, right hand." He grabs my arm and flips me onto my back. "I'm not some rookie, Jake. I'm in the armed forces." I get on my feet, but he grabs me in a choke hold. What a cheap bastard. I try to pull my way out of it, but that clearly won't happen. What now? I slam my head back into his, which catches him off guard.

"Sometimes, you just gotta use your head." I slam my foot into his chest, pushing him back a great distance. He recovers quickly though, and before I can land a punch, he punches my gut. He packs quite a punch and knocks the wind out of me. I grab his shoulders with my hands and kick him in the chest again. When he stumbles, I swing my left foot around and make contact with his ribs. Before he recovers, I kick him off his feet. I place my foot over his neck. "I think we know who won."

"Me," he answers as he grabs my foot and twists it, causing my body to lose balance, and he kicks me off my feet. My head makes unhappy contact with the pavement. His fist looms over my face, as if he can't hit me for some unseen reason. "You look like your father..."

"No," I punch him in the chest, not very effective but just enough that I can stand up. "I look _nothing_ like him." He grabs my shoulders and flips me onto my back again. He's slow but precise. I try to sweep his feet out from under him, and when he falls, I find myself in a choke hold again. I kick him in the shin, and his hold loosens.

"I get it; we're both good at fighting. But I need answered questions." He demands, as his leg slams down onto my left shoulder. "Desperate measures."

"Fuck," my arm goes limp. Dislocating my left shoulder was a shit move.

"Looks like I win." I lunge at him, but he kicks my leg out from under me. "Let's not make that dislocation any more serious." My shoulder is jolting with pain, and now everyone knows that my left shoulder is my weak point.

"Not on my watch." I trip him up, and he falls on his side next to me. I place my right hand over my left shoulder and slam it back into its socket. "_Fuck_!" It hurts, but that's an understatement. I push myself up, although my shoulder would surely protest. I drop my weight onto Redfield's chest; my knees support my weight. My right hand clenches into a fist, and I can't find the will to beat him senseless. How would it look to Sherry? How would she think of me when she hears that I beat her surrogate brother to a pulp? "_Leave_." He sighs.

"Fine," he lifts his hands up in defense. "Just one question."

"Fine."

"Do you _really_ love Sherry? Or are you just leading her on?" His eyes narrow at the pause that follows his question. His anger as a brotherly figure is rising.

"Yes, I love her..."

"_Finish him_!" Kruger shouts from the crowd. Redfield pulls himself up and turns to walk out the door.

"Muller, escort him out of the building." Axel commands. I do as I'm told. We walk out of the room in complete silence. Redfield keeps up his side of the deal and is leaving as promised.

"You _do_ look like your father." He adds. I stare at him, and I open my mouth to retort but choose to make the better of it. "Same height, same facial features, and same blue eyes."

"You must hate me."

"No, you did what your father never did; you decided to save the world instead of letting it rot away." He stops. "I know the way out from here, but give Sherry a call. She misses you quite a bit, and don't beat yourself up over Wesker. He was Wesker; you are Jake _Muller_." He pats my shoulder and turns towards the door. I watch him walk out of the building, and my hand brushes my phone. _Sherry_...

–x–

**I return to persisting the execution of Lisa Trevor, and Birkin refuses to join me. He is intrigued by the experimentation; in fact, he is on the path to finding a new strain of virus, a virus that is possibly worse than the Tyrant that we have spent the past fourteen years perfecting. The fact that he is challenging my results after my years of research peeves me. It peeves me greatly. To think that Birkin, my coworker for so long, is capable of disregarding my work, my precision crazed work, especially after I took part in the murder of Doctor Marcus.**

No man likes his hard earned work to go to waste.

** What is a bigger problem than Birkin and my disagreement? The fact that Birkin has been meeting with Spencer behind closed doors without my knowledge. I pretend that I am oblivious, pretend that I am not pissed off, pretend that I do not want to strangle Birkin to death. I am able to keep face, but within the confines of my own apartment, my anger seethes from every pore. Frustration drives every discussion, yet Anita is patient with me. She holds me together and keeps me from actually killing Birkin.**

My mom was good at that; she always keeps people together. Sometimes I wonder if that is why she had so much trouble pulling _herself_ together.

**She tries to avoid the topic of work and rambles on about nonsensical, frivolous things while my mind races, plots, and blames. She works excessively to free my mind. She wakes up early and cooks breakfast, stays up late and massages my stress ridden shoulders, keeps up with my days off and spends every second possible with me. I plan to take the initiative and demand a transfer. Spencer grants me what I ask for, and within a week, I am working with the Umbrella Intelligence Bureau. No more labs, no more Lisa Trevor, no more unrelenting anger towards Birkin. However, it makes me a little bit sad. Birkin is supplied with Doctor Curtis Miller without a second's hesitance. **

The loss of importance is always hard.

**Birkin still feigns friendship and invites Anita and me to his daughter's four year old birthday celebration. Anita brings a gift and a presentation. I have known for quite some time that she is a talented pianist but sadly, was never able to supply her with a piano to play on. If I remember correctly, Birkin has one in the living room. **

Another thing that I didn't know, my mom can play piano.

**Before my hand touches the front door to knock, Birkin opens the door quickly. Annette feigns happiness at the sight of Anita. 'We brought a gift for Sherry.' Anita smiles, disregarding the last exchange with Annette Birkin. 'It is such a shame that we no longer work together, Albert.' Birkin shakes his head sincerely. "True, however, today is the day that we celebrate your birthday; am I correct?" I ask the young girl who is clinging to Birkin's leg. She nods happily and disappears into the house. 'She's adorable!' Anita compliments. 'Yes, she is.' Annette assures, taking pride in her daughter. 'Ah, if you don't mind me asking, do you have a piano?' Anita asks shyly. Birkin nods leading her into the house. Annette holds me at the door, staring me down. 'I've already told you that I don't like that wretch, especially not in my house. She's a bad influence on you, my husband, and my daughter.' "Calm down, Annette, she just wants to play piano, and she brought a nice gift for your daughter." 'I'm happy to know that William isn't working with you anymore. I wonder though how you are capable of keeping that whore around you so well.' "She is not a whore." 'That's what you think.' Annette laughs as she wanders into the house.**

My mom even met Sherry...

**I believe their daughter's name is Sherry; she runs about the room but takes extreme interest in Anita when she sits down on the piano bench. 'Are you going to play? Mama and Daddy never play.' Sherry pouts. Anita smiles and pats the bench as to tell Sherry that it is okay to sit with her. Anita closes her eyes and begins to play what I believe is a personal rendition of **_**Moonlight Sonata**_**.**

How could I be so uninformed about my own mom?

** Sherry enjoyed our company, regardless of Annette's reluctance of our stay. Anita clearly has a talent with children and enjoyed Sherry's company too. Anita joins me in bed, and her head rests against my chest. 'Sherry is a wonderful little girl.' I can feel her smile through her voice. "Yes," Sherry is a bright child, and there is no debating that. Anita falls silent, and a tension thickens the air. Her hand picks at my undershirt. 'Albert.' "Yes, Anita." She falls silent again. 'I know it's selfish because we're not married, and maybe, you just don't want to get married to me. But I –' "Who said I did not want to marry you?" 'Well, that's beside the point. Seeing William and Annette with Sherry made me somewhat jealous, and I'm being very selfish. So stop me when you get sick of my banter.' "I never get sick of hearing you." 'I want to have a child, Albert.' The silence creeps up on us once again. 'Maybe it's just me, but I think it'd be wonderful to have a boy. We would raise him right, and he would protect –' "How about we work on the child part first." I laugh gently. 'Only if you want to.' "Anything for you." 'Just think if Sherry and our child were to be together.' "Well, one, I would hope for our child to be a boy then, and two, I would think that Birkin would be threatening him at gunpoint twenty-four-seven." She laughs, and I honestly consider what I am agreeing to.**

Before I was even born, my mom was setting me up with Sherry. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

–x–

"Hello," Sherry answers; she sounds tired, restless.

"Hey, super girl." I attempt a casual attitude.

"Jake?"

"What? I thought I was the only one who called you 'super girl.'"

"You are." For some reason, that really makes me happy.

"Where are you?"

"Why?"

"Fine, I won't open up, and I'll be an angsty, over-aged teenager all my life."

"I'm at a bed and breakfast, down the street from your apartment."

"I'm glad you remembered where I lived, albeit rather creepy."

"Shut up, Jake."

"Anything for you, super girl."

"I expect you in half an hour."

"I'll be there in less." I can hear her chuckle on the other end of the line when she hangs up.

**A/N:** All support and/or criticism is welcomed and appreciated

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hello, I truly appreciate writing for such a kind audience, and I have never had problems with the fanfiction community. I truly think that all of you are wonderful people, and I enjoy writing for you. However, in recent events, I have met with another set of fanfiction users in the vast community that we all take part in, and since they do not care for what people like me say, I would just like to tell people that I personally think that these kinds of groups are somewhat discouraging, but I love reading. I enjoy so many brilliant stories from so many talented people, and it kind of upsets me because now I see that fanfiction, a place of unique creativity, has become a place for vigilantes to play the moderator game. Anyway, I hope no one has to deal with these people and/or lose their work to their exaggerated regulation enforcement or just plain heckling.

_ALONSI~! (to the chapter!)_

**Chapter 11.**

Sherry lies next to me, and I don't remember falling asleep. There are slight signs of bags under her eyes; I wonder how hard it is to work in America, the country where they live to work. She pulls the comforter closer to her chin as she rolls over. My eyes are now resting on her blonde hair. She is an angel; I am a demon.

–xi–

** Work is mind numbing, so to keep from going absolutely brain dead, I ponder how to go about the next step. Small towns like Raccoon City have horrible supplies of the luxury quality, and I keep wondering why the hell I ever came here. Oh, yeah, I thought Birkin would not fuck me over like the bastard he is. Anyhow, I finally procured a ring with blue sapphires, even though it took extensive lengths to get what I wanted. Now, how to present this like it matters?**

Why isn't anything going to shit yet? Albert Wesker went slightly bat-shit crazy by the beginning of 1993, so why is he still as normal as the color gray?

**Plans aside, I have the day off tomorrow. It will be a great day. How to go about asking such a question? Birkin has been nagging me since his wedding that I should propose to Anita, and I should have. It has been almost ten years; it normally takes five for people to 'fall in love.' **

My mom was never married, so I guess this is where we all learn the truth.

**I have decided that I will go the cliché way and bring her out to dinner. Anita dresses in a light blue, summer dress, and I wear a plain pair of black pants, a white, button up shirt, and a lightweight blazer. The restaurant that I have reserved a table at is down the street a few blocks, so we decide to walk. As luck would have it, the air is strangely warm. She holds my hand as we walk, and I can feel the little, square box press against my leg in my pocket. 'It's nice out.' She states happily. "It is, possibly, for the first time this year." A smile pulls at my lips. 'It's a lot warmer than Edonia.' That one proper noun irritates me; I can not explain why. "I hope so; it is insanely cold there." 'If you bundle up, it's okay.' She falls silent. 'Sorry, you probably don't like talking about a dump like Edonia.' "I will talk about whatever you want to talk about." I kiss her cheek. "We are here." **

Clearly, he didn't like Edonia because he dragged her to America.

–xi–

"Jake," Sherry whispers as she sits up.

"Mornin', super girl." She rubs her eyes gently. "How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in a _long_ time, ha-ha." She stares at me as if she worries I will disappear.

"America seems to suck."

"It's not all bad; you should visit some time." She smiles and is clearly still in Sandman Land.

"So, I promised to tell you stuff." I fake a smile.

"You did." She confirms.

"So." I reach over and pick up my wallet. My hand flawlessly pulls out a picture and hands it to Sherry. "This is my mom." She stares at the worn out picture. A young woman with long brunette hair is holding a child, about five years old, and trying to get him to stay still.

"Wow, she's beautiful."

"She died when I was fifteen and is why I'm a merc." She rubs my back in a comforting manner. "It was a tumor."

"Jake."

"My great-grandfather died from the same thing; it's a hereditary thing."

"Then you –"

"I'm fine; remember, I've got Wesker genes." I laugh and flex my right arm as a symbol of strength.

"'Wesker genes?'" She questions in good humor. "Isn't the world lucky?"

"Nah, I'm lucky 'cause I met you."

"Me? The G-Virus incubator?" She gets me, and I like that.

"Seems like our parents just set us up with one another."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

–xi–

**Anxiety is causing my forehead to sweat. Throughout the course of dinner, my mind races for both possible outcomes. Conversation has ended, and we revert into our respective silences. Now is the time, so what the hell? My hand reaches into my pocket and grasps the velor box. I inhale.**

Who knew the man who tried to be god and enslave humanity would be nervous about proposing?

**I stand up from my seat and gradually make my way to one knee. Everyone's eyes gravitate towards me, and for a second, everyone is holding their breath. "Anita Muller, would you do me the honor of being my wife?" Her hand is pressed over her mouth, and everyone else is watching intently. 'Albert, I – wow – of course, I would love to.' She confirms, and everyone else claps. I happily slide the ring onto her ring finger. **

And they continued to be happy.

**As we are exiting the building, a host taps my arm. "Yes?" He procures a gourmet grade cake. 'On the house and congratulations.' It takes a while for me to register what is going on. "Oh, thank you very much, sir." He hands the cake towards me, and I take it in my left hand as we walk out into the night. Anita shivers a bit; it has become a lot colder than it was before. I place the cake on the ground, slip off my blazer, and wrap it around her shoulders. 'Thank you.' I pick up the cake with my left hand and wrap my right arm around her waist. "Tonight has gone well." 'I couldn't imagine anything better.' Her hand rests on mine. **

They were happy.

**'Who knew it would take so long for Wesker to grow a pair?' Birkin jokes as he is handed two beer bottles. "Well, if you keep drinking those Stellas, you will not have a pair for much longer." I hiss. 'Right, well, it took you long enough. What's she gonna say anyway? No? Then, it's straight back to Edonia for her, isn't it?' His face is decorated with a smug grin at his own humorous ingenuity. "Don't say that." He frowns a bit. 'If it were me, I would've sent her back a while ago.' "Good thing that I am not you then, correct?" He rests his hand on my shoulder. 'Just some friend-to-friend advice, don't do it; she'll ruin your reputation and credibility.' I wave him off. "Who are you anyway? Your wife has gotten into your head! Anita is a fine, young woman; you said so yourself." He pauses for a moment. 'Yeah, but think about her past; do you really think that you can trust her of all people?' Anger and frustration boil beneath my calm facade. "Says the ex-co-worker, who was going behind my back to get his way. Do not lecture me on trust with Anita, when you broke your trust with me." 'Right, I should've talked with you about it, but now that you bring it up, Lisa Trevor turned out to be worthless after all.' "Really?" 'Yes, ****however, I did procure the G-Virus.' Birkin reminds as if trying to protect his ego. "Congratulations." 'Yes, well, Liza Trevor will be disposed of as soon as possible; Spencer organized it and everything.' "Great, no more suffering, it is about time."**

It seems like Birkin was just one of those people who Wesker kept around because he could, not because he wanted to.

** I often find Anita staring at the ring on her finger as if it is an alien, and it concerns me a bit. "We can go get another ring, if you would like a different one." 'No, it's wonderful.' She always replies with that and continues on with her daily schedule. She hums her little tune now and then. I would not be able to repeat it for anyone because I have not truly listened all that well to it. We try new things on my days off. She tries to teach me piano, but I believe music is something that will never agree with me. I have an immaculate thought processing system, but when it is left up to my hands to represent it, it comes out sounding like something sat on the piano. It is repulsive. And it further confirms that a man of science cannot also be a man of art.**

She always sang the same song, hummed it too, but I cannot quite replicate it. Perhaps, it is because I am a man and she is a woman. I will never know.

–xi–

Sherry is in the shower, and I still can't find a reason as to why I'm still here. She never asked me to stay but never told me to leave. The water turns off, and I can hear the faint sound of humming. The tune is quite mesmerizing and familiar. She opens the door, and steam flees the small confines of the bathroom. She is still humming.

"What song is that?" I ask casually.

"I honestly don't know; I've just heard it before. I forget where. Why?" She asks as she slips on her jacket.

"Never-mind."

–xi–

**A long day's work of repressed boredom has ended. Pretending to be enthralled by communication services and clients is painstakingly dull. However, work has let out early, so I make a detour on the way home and buy a few flowers. Perhaps seeing Anita in a great mood will help my own. Flowers in hand, I open the apartment door to find all the lights off and lingering silence. Perhaps she has already gone to bed. I turn on the lights in the bedroom, empty; bathroom, empty; closet, empty. A feeling of emptiness is beginning to well in my mind, and it is completely unnecessary. Maybe she went out with friends; I am home earlier than usual. I place the flowers in a vase and take a shower. Upon leaving the bathroom, a piece of paper catches my eye, along with a ring encrusted with sapphires.**

Must have been a blow to the chest.

**'Albert,  
I love you, and I'm sorry.  
Anita Muller.'**

So blunt, it must have been painful.

** I do not know whether to be infuriated or depressed. I could be tearing apart this letter or closing the curtains and myself from the world. My body is cold, but I can feel little pricks of reality breaking throughout my skin. I leave the letter where it is and lie in bed. I realize that this bed was made for more than just one, or perhaps I have grown too used to it being shared. I do not know where to go from here, but perhaps that is a problem best saved for tomorrow.**

He would never know why she left, would he? There is no record of why she left. She never told anyone.

**Nothing gets completed at work. Nothing. My mind is absent and wandering through all the possibilities on what I could have possibly done wrong. Where could I have changed? Why did she leave?**

He never would have gotten back on track.

**To my surprise, I am greeted with a manila folder with 'S.T.A.R.S.' stamped in red ink. Underneath the stamp, 'Special Tactics and Rescue Service' is scrawled in handwriting. I open the folder to find a peculiar page that has my personal information, well, falsified personal information.**

**'Name: Wesker, Albert J.**

**D.O.B: August 28th, 1960**

**Gender: Male**

**Height: 6'3"**

**Weight: 186 lb**

**Blood type: O**

**Marital Status: Married**

**Spouse: Nurik, Madeline R.'**

** There are pictures of me from four prominent angles, and more falsified documentation. Following the false information is a packet entailing the details of S.T.A.R.S., what it will be and how it will work, and after that, my own information from Umbrella on why S.T.A.R.S. pertains to me.**

Exit, Anita Muller; enter, Chris Redfield.

–xi–

Things have cleared up well with Sherry, but now, I have to deal with Ms. Alexandria Schey.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

Funny how people will be nicer to strangers than people they know. Well, no, actually that makes a ton of sense...

–xii–

** S.T.A.R.S. interviews start today. I personally would have preferred them to be earlier in the year, so the program would be up and functional before summer. However, [Enrico] Marini, Bravo team captain, has decided to shirk off his duty as team captain and ignore every single session I have offered. So I decided that I would read over the twelve files of interviewees and choose the six that I thought were most qualified to my personal standards. Marini can have the rest. Today's interviews consist and are limited to Barry Burton, Joseph Frost, Christopher Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Brad Vickers.**

So it was Wesker who sought out Redfield, interesting.

**A rough looking man with a slightly larger than average build walks into the office; he is calm and reserved but walks with an air of carelessness. I extend my arm out to shake his hand; he looks and firmly shakes my hand as he sits down in the plastic chair, opposite of me. "So Mr. Burton, –" 'You can call me 'Barry.'' "Barry, what are you interested in pertaining to the S.T.A.R.S. program?" 'What can I say? I'm a gun enthusiast, and ever since I left the air force, I can't keep my mind – much less my occupation – away from 'em. Besides, I've got a family to be lookin' after.' "Right, and why did you leave the air force?" There is no hesitation. 'A good friend of mine was discharged from the air force for what I believed was wrong, so I dropped out too. I'd rather have a friend who can cover me than an armed force that calls me expendable.' He is influenced easily. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Barry, and I look forward to seeing you in S.T.A.R.S." 'Never got your name.' He stands up and habitually begins to salute but stops himself. "Wesker, Albert Wesker." A smile pulls across his face. 'Well, it's a small town, so I'll be seeing you around, I suppose, Wesker.' He saunters out of the room.**

Barry Burton, also a survivor of Raccoon City, was a good friend of Redfield's.

**Joseph Frost was on par with the requirements, so I can not just turn him down. However, he does not stand out as much as his credentials say he would. The interview was plain, and I find no reason to include that in this entry. A man in his mid-to-early twenties walks through the door. He does his hair strangely, so it appears to be standing on end, However, his strange hair statement does not matter. This young man, Redfield, is another supposed ex-air force pilot with a recognizable skill in accuracy. He is somewhat short compared to my own height, but he seems to make up for it in attitude. He sits in the chair, and his face speaks business. "So Mr. Redfield or do you go by 'Chris?'" 'I would prefer the latter.' "I figured, so why are you interested in S.T.A.R.S?" He takes a while to formulate an answer, actually putting in thought, unlike the other two men. 'I need to get back on my feet.' He looks at his hands, unprofessional if you ask me. "Yes, you retired from the air force because of injury I suppose?" His head shoots up, and he looks me straight in the eye. 'I did not retire; I will make that much clear. I believe the truth is a necessity. I was discharged after trying to save a few more lives at the expense of disregarding orders.' He does not look away. "You can not always be a hero." 'But I can sure as hell die trying.' And I believe that he will, and for a second, I see myself a few years back, demanding that things be done differently. "Tell me about yourself." And the rest of the interview is the stereotypical, dreary bullshit.**

So he took interest Redfield because he reminded Wesker of himself?

–xii–

"Hi," Ms. Alex Schey stares at me as I tap a beer bottle impatiently.

"Hello," put your best American foot forward.

"You're not from here are you?" I shake my head.

"No, it's cold here."

"Where are you from?" She is instantly interested in my answer. She likes to steal from American tourists.

"America," where dreams come true.

"Oh, why are you here?" Her hand rests on my arm.

"Studying." That's what people my age do over there, right?

"Oh, what's your field?" Apparently that _is_ what they do over there.

"Evolutionary Psychology." Something that I honestly would like to look into...

"And that entails?"

"That we're all murderous, rage-induced racists, but we're taught otherwise. It's quite fascinating."

"And why are we those things?" I've got her on a line.

"Well, we're the children of the winners of wars," except me. "The ones who lose die, and therefore, the strongest prevail. Social Darwinism and that sort of stuff."

"You are a fascinating piece of work, Mr. Jake from America." She whispers into my ear, and I attempt to keep the smirk from my lips. These jobs just keep getting easier. "Where are you staying tonight?"

"This bed and breakfast place, why?" I asked Sherry if I could use her room, and she could stay at my apartment for the night or I would buy a hotel room. She chose the former.

"I'd love to spend some more time discussing this evolutionary psych."

"Sure," I stand up from the bar stool, and Alex jumps flawlessly onto the floor. It's not surprising that men fell into her trap. She's pretty but too fake.

–xii–

**I never put much thought into what really happened to Madeline Nurik after I went to Edonia, and I never thought that she could be an Umbrella scientist. But lo and behold, she is. She is also my 'wife,' which is quite a disappointment. She is nothing like Anita, and she will never understand how much Anita means to me. Photos of Anita and me are hidden within the pages of this journal because Madeline is supposed to be my wife, and I am her faithful husband. And so, Anita must be erased. I have relocated to a townhouse with Madeline. Relocating helps with loss, but it hinders memory. I want to sleep in the same bed and remember how it felt to wake up to Anita and hear her humming every morning. I want to see her again, but I do not have the faintest clue where she has gone. I keep an eye on the news, dreading that her name may appear in the headlines. Thankfully, it has not.**

An old flame, he thought he extinguished with the introduction of a new one.

**I detest waking to an unfamiliar face. Unlike we are supposed to be, I cannot find a reason to pose as the faithful and passionate husband that I am supposed to be, but I believe they have cast the wrong woman. 'Albert, I love you.' Madeline informs in a mechanic sort of tone. "It is wonderful that you are willing to play this game with me, but I have no interest in intimacy with a woman who is a surrogate wife. Love does not exist, and my name is Wesker." She still pursues my attention, and it is quite pathetic. 'I know that Anita leaving you is hard, but –' Something burned into rage. "Do not mention her like you knew her; you were one of the women who turned their noses up at the sight of her! You have no right to know her name!" 'I just didn't understand how a man of your ranking could love a woman like her.' Ranking? I have none. I am an unwanted foster child who just got lucky. "I have no ranking. I am not of wealthy descent, and I do not have anything major. She was all I wanted and needed; in fact, she was out of my league. But you wouldn't understand that would you?" Madeline just stares in disbelief. She will never understand.**

Mom missed you too, but you didn't know that. She didn't want to leave. More pictures slip out from the journal. A picture of my mom at the piano with a young girl with blonde hair, Sherry. Another of Mom dancing with Wesker. She made him normal, and he would have done anything for her. Pictures of unbelievable moments: Wesker without sunglasses but with a smile, and Mom being loved by the man who she would give her life for. Another picture is of her in that blue dress, smiling like there is no tomorrow.

**S.T.A.R.S. has been launched and is quite the success. Two teams with six elite, skilled officers and two captains. However, things have just begun, and paperwork is the start of all new businesses, whether commercial or private or defense. Paperwork is always there. I would prefer to get S.T.A.R.S. notified and recognized as soon as possible, so I complete most of the paperwork because I do not trust Marini and would rather not force paperwork on my subordinates. Besides, thanks to the Umbrella research facility, long hours do not deter me from my objectives. Today, Burton has already gone home to his family, and Redfield has gone out to a bar with Frost, Vickers, and presumably Valentine. I enjoy the silence company of paperwork and the whispering of my pen to paper. A knock on the office door catches me off guard. 'Sorry, sir.' Valentine addresses nervously. "Not a problem, Valentine." I continue with my paperwork, but her eyes still rest on me. 'Don't you have a wife?' I place my pen down on the desk. "Indeed." 'Doesn't she worry that you're always out so late at work?' "I do not know." She gains a bit of confidence. 'I can finish up; it's not fair for Chris and Barry and the rest of them to leave while you do all this work.' "I do not mind." 'But your wife –' "She and I are not on good terms lately, or ever for that matter, so do not mind me, paperwork is quite soothing, therapeutic if I must categorize." She stares at me as I pick up my pen once again. "Oh, and Redfield wanted me to find out if you were seeing someone, but I will leave that up to him to ask you." I place my pen onto the desk again and straighten out the papers into perfect alignment. A perfectly good day spent on papers and documents that will be turned into the R.C.P.D. And, more importantly, Umbrella tomorrow for the authentication of the S.T.A.R.S. department. "Goodnight, Ms. Valentine, and drive safely." **

So my dad was a paperwork slave, oh joy, no wonder he went crazy.

–xii–

She follows me into the rented room. She presses her body against mine, and I can tell where this is going. She slips off my shirt and says something about my numerous scars, and I lie. She wishes to continue, but I wish to finish this job. I lie about some handcuff fetish, and she plays along.

"You're pretty and all, but you're not my type. I'm no good with the criminal type." I joke. She thinks I'm playing.

"I think I can change that." She tries to be seductive.

"Nope," I wrap her coat over her shoulders as I lead her out of the room into the hall, out the building into the street, and over to the police department.

"You have got to be _kidding _me." She hisses.

"Nope, you're a pretty little price." I smirk at her panic. She swings her foot into my shin, and her other leg kicks me in the stomach. Instinctively, I keel over, and she takes the opportunity to slam her elbow down against the back of my head, behind my right ear. A sickening crack cuts the air. "Oh, you little –"

"I don't like to be played, Jake."

"Jake~!" Schriner calls as he walks out from his office. He's tall and thin, and his face is like his body with gaunt tone to it. He is a friend of the ELA.

"No bullshit, Schriner; where's my money?" I gingerly press my hand against the back of my head.

"Axel tell you? It's twenty grand, even."

"Fine, where is it?" Schriner hands me the stack of cash.

"Pleasure doing business." He waves as he works on further detaining Ms. Schey. I go home, which is only a few blocks away.

I open the door to my apartment to find Sherry on the couch talking to Lily. Regardless of how Lily got into my apartment, the issue is that they are talking to one another.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13.**

"It was nice meeting you, Sherry." Lily states as she stands up to leave. "I'm glad you're okay, Jake."

"You too." I reply as she closes the door behind her.

"She was nice." Sherry admits. I walk over to the couch and sit next to her.

"You think?" I joke sarcastically.

"Yeah, any other women that I should know about?" Sherry jokes.

"Eh, not really, what did she tell you?" She pauses for a bit.

"That you really need someone to care about you."

"Oh really?" I challenge playfully.

"You had your mother and then Lily, but you have –"

"I'm learning to grow up – as late in the game as this is."

"She also mentioned Axel?"

"Yeah, he runs the ELA; it's kind of all he has left now."

"What do you mean?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

–xiii–

** Most of the time, we do not do anything. It is not very often that people need rescuing, and cats that are stuck in trees are the fire department's problem. So, it is often to see Redfield and Burton going off to the shooting range, and Valentine and Frost going to practice hand-to-hand. Only God himself knows where Vickers goes all the time. S.T.A.R.S.: Starting To Appear Retrogressive and Superfluous. How disappointing. Birkin occasionally contacts me to crusade his success around my face, and his excessive ego must be put down with a tirade of long words that he does not quite know the meaning of. I mean, we are thirty-six and thirty-five, yet he continues to act younger than his nine year old daughter. It is quite unprofessional.**

Once again, Birkin succeeds and is an ass-hat about it.

** Evenings are awkward. Where I used to adore the thought of going home early, it now creates a feeling of loathing. Most of the time, I am not in the mood to eat a dinner, so I settle for an apple and a book. Madeline eats at the table as I shut myself away in the office-like area. Once, Burton and his wife swung by for a surprise visit, and that was agonizing. We got to pretend to truly be infatuated with one another, and for cynics like me, that is not an easy thing. Somehow we convinced Burton that we were not on the verge of a failed marriage and after he left, we went back to our separated ways. **

Not very attached to anyone is he?

**Today is quite amusing. The three of us – Redfield, Valentine, and I – made a bet on who could get a better score in shooting. Clearly, I knew that Redfield was definitely going to win, but that is because the records are proof of his superiority of marksmanship. However, I am interested in how well Valentine does. Whoever loses has to buy the other two as many drinks as they want. 'I'll give you the chance to back out now.' Redfield jokes. "I think that you are underestimating me." Valentine is quiet. She loads her gun with the standard ten bullet clip. I watch her load another and hand it to Redfield. I pick up a handgun and load it within a few seconds. Redfield stands in front of his given stall; Valentine steps in front of another. I turn to face my given target. The three of us place the hearing protection approved headphones as we set up to fire. Ten shots, Redfield finishes first; I finish my clip at the same time Valentine does. We each collect our respective sheets. Redfield landed five within the ten range and the other five within the nine to eight range. Valentine got seven within the nine to eight range, two within the seven range, and one to the head for style. I clearly disregarded the target and the respective numbers, but I definitely killed whatever guy the sheet represents, three to the head, five to the chest, and two in the shoulder. I knew I was going to lose, but this is a bit ridiculous. I used to be a scientist not a sharpshooter. 'I think we know who won.' "At least we all know how to kill someone." 'We all have decent accuracy.' Redfield says that like decent is below average. I will resent every drink I buy him tonight.**

The friendly rivalry begins.

**Luckily, Redfield is not one to want to get drunk off his ass, so it didn't push my wallet too much. Valentine was obviously going to be cheap; she does not look like she can handle that much beer to begin with. I, on the other hand, drink water. I made an assumption that I would be the designated driver of the group because well, Redfield will be drunk and Valentine would be questionable. The last thing S.T.A.R.S. needs is news getting out about its members going around drinking and driving. If working in that research facility of Umbrella taught me anything, it is that appearance is a major thing to the public eye. However, Redfield did in fact get drunk enough to do stupid shit to be regretting later. He flirted with Valentine and bugged me about what my credentials were that made me so qualified. If he was sober, he would remember why he is barely qualified as it is. But this is just harmless fun. I guess. I do not actually know what could be defined as 'harmless' or 'fun.' I just work, but perhaps that is my own form of fun and joy. That makes me look like a masochist.**

Basically, image is everything to Wesker, and that's why he brought my mom to America and dressed her up like she was a doll. How could he be seen with a woman who lives in the American definition of poverty? He can't, and my mom knew that.

–xiii–

"Well, Axel was married to a woman named, Kai." I stand up and rummage through my mom's stuff, which is mostly pictures. I find one of a woman with reddish brown hair and an arm around my mom. Axel's in the picture too, but he looks a good fifteen years younger. "This is Kai; the man is Axel. When I was eighteen, Axel planned to stage a coup d'etat and overthrow the imbeciles in the Edonian government. Word gets around pretty fast when you live in a land of corruption and lack of privacy, y'know?" Sherry nods in agreement. "One of the higher ups – some kind of official – heard of the plans and sought out a way to prevent it. Like I said before, Edonia is littered and built on spying, wiretapping, and bribery, so the official – Schulz was his name – found out about Axel and Kai. The government is sick, and it has no intentions of getting treated. Seeing Axel and the ELA as an immense threat, they took desperate measures. First, they abducted her for ransom, compromise to get Axel to stop his schemes in the underground of society, and he would have complied, anything to save Kai. I remember it vividly. He was dressed to make an impression, suit and all; I was at a desk watching him approach the door when the computer screen flickered. Static noise filled the room along with the low quality recording of Schulz's voice. He taunted Axel, until he went to check the stupid piece of technology." I stop to take a breath, remembering the pure rage that overtook Axel. "They made him watch as they murdered his wife. He swore he'd be the one to choke the life out of the sick bastards that took away his wife, and he dug himself deeper into the heart of the ELA."

"Jake, Kai has the same hair color as you." Sherry tries to change the subject while examining the photo.

"A lot of people said that, and that's also why people think that Axel plays favorites with me." I try to crack some cynical bullshit, but it's a lot harder when your mind wanders. _"Muller! Get all your shit; you're coming with me!" Axel, I don't think this is logical. "I didn't give two flying fucks for what's logical! You saw it; they _killed_ her!" Axel. "No, don't fucking 'Axel' me! She had _nothing _to do with us, so why the hell did they bring her into it?!" Because they wanted to hit you where it hurts. _I remember he grabbed me by the collar and threatened to shoot me in the face if I ever said something that was borderline 'justification' for those sick bastards. "You just can't do something so drastically inconsiderate and expect someone not to fight back."

"Lily told me about how involved you were with being a mercenary. It was pretty serious wasn't it?"

"It brought in money."

"It also brought misfortune, maybe not to you, but who knows if you will get away without emotional scarring?" I know Sherry doesn't like the fact that I am a merc. That seems to be an issue with people.

"But if I stopped I wouldn't have met you," and that would have been against what my mom wanted to happen. "I wouldn't have learned about my dad, and I wouldn't even try to be a better person like I am trying now."

–xiii–

** Today I received a letter, addressed to me without a return address. I question opening it because this seems like some kind of death threat set up. I lean back in my chair while reading the letter, scrawled in familiar handwriting.**

**'Dear Albert,  
Only God knows if you will ever get this letter, but I find the necessity to try to make contact with you. Well, now what to say? I miss you, but I guess that wouldn't seem as sincere since I left. I had to leave because of personal reasons, and I would never want to let you go on blaming yourself.  
I have recently come to the conclusion that we weren't going to work out though, no matter how much I love you or you love me. Annette made a good point when she said that you and I were never supposed to meet because we weren't. I am a living commodity, and you are an intellectual, successful scientist. I feel like I was holding you back, and I had no right to do so.  
We were never supposed to meet; it was all a coincidence. If you would like to contact me my address is enclosed as well.  
I love you,  
Anita Muller'**

** It takes a while for things to sink in. Anita. Without a second's hesitation, I pull a blank sheet of paper from one of the desk's drawers and a pen from atop my desk. I have no desire to just leave this dangling possibility out in the open and allow questions to go unanswered.**

–xiii–

I place my handgun under my pillow and kick off my pants. My hands pull my shirt over my head as I sit on the edge of my bed. It's nice to be able to sleep in my own bed for once in a while though. Sherry lies on the other half of the bed with the sheets pulled up to her chin. This is what they intended wasn't it? Sherry and I. I feel a pair of eyes staring at the back of my head.

"Hmmm, can't get enough of my sexy hairline, yeah?" I joke; a blush creeps across Sherry's face.

"No, I just – nothing." She pulls the sheets over her head.

"Doesn't look like nothing; I mean, you're reduced to hiding under the sheets." I place my head under the covers. She smiles.

"Maybe I like it better under here."

"Fine then," I sit up and lie down with my back facing her.

"Didn't mean that I liked it without your face." She emerges from the covers with a hint of bedhead.

"You work that hairstyle like it's the shit." I tease.

"You're such an ass!"

"At least I have a nice one to go with the name."

"Wow."

"You like me."

"I don't know why."

"Because I'm great and have a great ass."

"I'm going to bed."

"Goodnight, sweet dreams and all that good stuff." She lies down, and her back is staring me down. I kiss the top of her head. "Seriously though, sweet dreams, super girl."

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14.**

Sherry sleeps next to me, and I watch her sleep. No, I'm not a creep; it's just this is the first time that I've woken up next to someone on Valentine's Day...

–xiv–

**Valentine's Day is coming around, and it is definitely the most commercialized holiday in this entire country.**

Couldn't have said it better myself, crazy man.

**I do not have plans nor do I want them. Madeline is not expecting anything of me, and I suppose she is assuming correctly. Burton plans on a nice dinner out with his wife. He invited me, but I kindly declined. I pull out my wallet and pull out her picture, Anita. She went back to Edonia; that much was unfairly evident. I do not know how to explain why losing her left me so empty, but I know that is not how it should be. I should be able to move on and get back on my feet. That is what everyone else does, so why is it that I am inadequate to do so? I have grown so accustomed to hiding my composure with sunglasses; it keeps me from having to hold face. The door to my office opens, causing me to jump a bit, and Redfield's face materializes in the door's absence. 'Captain!' "Redfield, the last time I checked, no one was on fire, so there is absolutely no reason that you need to be yelling." I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation. 'I just thought that I needed to capture your attention!' He never learns.**

Who would have thought that Redfield would be the needy type? I'll have to bitch him about it later.

**"And why would you need my attention****?****" He strides over the desk with confidence and opens his mouth to talk, but something catches his eye. He closes his mouth; his eyes stare at the picture on my desk. 'That's not your wife?' "No, it is not." I guess that my distaste for my 'wife' has gotten around in the past couple of years. 'So who's she?' I pick up the picture to put it back into its respective place, close to me. "Her name is Anita, and she is very important to me, but I – well, I – no, she left me." What am I saying? 'Oh, was she your girlfriend?' "Fiancee." 'I'm sorry; I –' He panics a bit after being put on the spot. "Anyhow, why are you here?" He tries to read through my shields, both mental and physical. 'I was wondering if both Jill and I can take the night off tomorrow?' I laugh carelessly. "So she finally said yes? Or was it you finally grew the balls to ask her?" Redfield fidgets uncomfortably. 'Can we or not?' He persists. "Sure, but when Raccoon City needs a rescue team; we are all fucked." It is his turn to laugh. 'When some old woman gets her cat stuck in a tree, you know how to call the fire department, right?' "Sure, I still will blame you." 'Whatever, ass.' "Although you consider us friends, you should be wise and watch your words, Chris." He stares at me in disbelief which does not amount to much. 'You called me by my first name for the first time!' "Did I?" I tilt my head in question. 'You did!' "Oh, well, it must have been a mistake on my part. Please disregard that impolite assumption." He scratches the back of his head in wonder. 'Why don't you call us by our names?' I sigh. "I believe that people with achievements like yours deserve the utmost respect, and ergo, I call you by your surname to show that you are indeed qualified for my respects."**

Who knew that Redfield and Wesker were close enough that statements weren't taken literally?

–xiv–

Sherry continues to sleep, and I am wide awake. I slip on a pair of pants and a pair of shoes and make my way towards the door; grabbing my coat, I walk out of the door and lock the door. The crisp February air is bitter and uninviting; I inhale, make my way down the steps of the stairwell, and break into a sprint. It doesn't take long to make it downtown into the sad excuse for a town square. My eyes dart from facade to facade until I find the store I'm looking for. Ah, there it is, the small flower shop. It's already crowded, but that is to be expected on Valentine's Day. I shoulder my way through the store towards the check out. Most of the generic flowers are gone, and I am left with a short and restricted selection. I pick up a bouquet of gladiolas. I pay for the flowers and make my way towards the entrance, trying to preserve the flowers as best as possible.

I knock on the door of my apartment to check if Sherry is awake or not. The door opens, and her face peeks out from around the door. Her hair is defined with the craze of bedhead. I pull the bouquet out from behind my back, and the flowers are already beginning to wilt due to the lack of water. She gasps.

"Flowers, _so_ cliché, oh _no_!" I laugh jokingly.

"Wow, Jake are these for me?!" She blushes a bit.

"Course, who else would they be for?" A frown pulls at my lips a bit. "Sorry, is there someone else in my apartment that I don't know about yet?" I arch an eyebrow to further my sarcasm.

"No, but these flowers are beautiful."

"Nah, they're kind of _dead_..." I scratch the back of my head quizzically.

"It's the thought that counts, Jake."

"Right, happy Valentine's Day, super girl."

–xiv–

**I open the door to the townhouse, and today is no different from any other day. But I am proven incorrect by Madeline; she runs up to me and hugs me tightly, regardless of my personal space preference. 'I can't believe you! This is more than I could have ever asked for on Valentine's Day!' "What exactly are you talking about?" She pulls away and reveals her hand, and I swear I could have strangled a baby to death.**

I gotta say, crazy man; you and I could have ruled the world of sarcasm.

**Her hand adorns a ring encrusted with sapphires. I could have sworn that I hid that away, but alas, I have been proven so irritatingly wrong. She kisses my cheek and pulls me in for a hug again. I cannot simply just tell her to put it back, but it irks me that she wears it like it was for her. 'However, it's a bit tight, so refitting it may be necessary.' Refitting it means further erasing Anita, but it is time to move on, right? Why should I have to move on? "I am glad you like it." Clearly, someone else did not enjoy the gesture as much. She kisses me, something I believe that she has been waiting to do for a long time. I take pity on her and kiss her back. Her hand laces with mine. 'And here I thought that you didn't like me at all.' Her hand rests against my stomach.**

At least he's not continuing on and on about how much he loves so and so.

–xiv–

My phone is ringing, and the caller id reads 'Axel.' Sherry is sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar shaped area, so I put the phone back down on the counter. She watches me as I grab a cup from the cabinet and fill it with water.

"I like the flowers, Jake." She remarks.

"I used to buy flowers for my mom every Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, and her birthday; she would always get so pissed because we didn't have the money to waste." I place the cup of water in front of her. "Here."

"Thanks." She peels off the cellophane that is wrapped around the flowers. As she places the flowers into the makeshift vase, she looks at me. "How did you get the scar on your face? I know you told me before, but you just said generalizations. If you don't want to –"

"He was a politician; Bauer was his name. He was a corrupt man, easily swayed by a bribe so when he was voted into office, it didn't take long for someone to pay him to vote to pass an unbelievably high tax. As you can tell, Edonia is still a dump and cannot economically handle high taxes, so when the tax was passed, the poor got poorer. The rich partied, and the difference in classes grew. Someone paid off one of the ELA members to murder him, but that member was unsuccessful and ended up with his throat slashed open. Bauer was good with knives, and I needed a chance to prove that I was capable of the ELA. Axel sent me out against Bauer with a dinky pistol." I laugh a bit. "I was scared shitless, so fucking scared. Bauer knew that the ELA wanted his head and was ready when I showed up. Basically, he tackled me to the ground and tried to slit my throat, but I managed to moved his knife from my neck to my face. I guess you can figure out the rest."

"You were really telling the truth."

"What? Of course I was!"

"You really are going to open up to me." She runs her finger over my scar. "You also _really_ don't like politicians."

"No, they're dirty, fucking pigs." I look at her. "You really like my story-time, don't you?"

"Of course, but it's only because you have so many interesting stories to tell." She kisses my cheek.

"They're pretty dumb." I rebut.

"I think they make you the prince charming, riding in to save the day on your noble – _bike_." She laughs.

"Is my sword of strength my elephant killer?" I pander on.

"Of course, and your shield? Wesker genes." We laugh a bit.

"And you –"

–xiv–

** I do not know what it was that made me rush out of the townhouse. It could have been because Madeline was getting too close and asking for too much or because she suggested erasing Anita. The ring is in my hand because Madeline expects it to be re-sized. I stand in the street and watch a collection of clouds veil the moon. 'Do my eyes deceive me?! Or is that the Captain without his sunglasses?!'** **I turn towards the voice to find Redfield in formal attire, and Valentine is walking next to him in an attractive get up. But she is not my type. 'Chris, don't be so brash.' Valentine reminds him as she places her hand on his forearm. "Yes, Redfield, grow up." He smirks casually. 'Well, you can't blame me for being surprised; I was beginning to think the man had no eyes 'cause he wears those damn glasses all the time. You know, Wesker, you should really let more people see those baby blues, and maybe, you'd have an easier time.' My eyebrows furrow in response to his naivete and stupidity. "I am married." I hiss. 'Yes, but there once was another wo–' Valentine cuts him off. 'Sorry, Captain, he's just a little tipsy.' She begins to pull Redfield away. 'Her name was Anita, wasn't it?' Redfield calls as Valentine pulls him away. "Wait." I call out, but they do not stop. "That is an order, Valentine." I walk up to the two and grab Redfield by the shoulders."Where did you hear that name?!" A drunken smile pulls at his lips. 'When I was in your office, you had her picture out and told me yourself who she was.' Right.**

Way to go Wesker, covering those tracks like a pro.

**I close the door to the townhouse behind me, and Madeline asks where the ring is. I lie about some jewelers fixing the size, and she smiles. The ring is in my pocket, and I plan to put it in a letter to its original owner. I make sure that Madeline is out of the room for good before I pull out a sheet of paper, an envelope, and a pen.  
'Anita,  
I believe that you left something in America that is rightfully yours.  
Best of luck,  
Wesker.  
Happy Valentine's Day.'  
I drop the ring into the envelope and quickly read it, and eventually, I decide against the final line. Not only for personal reasons, but also because logically, it would get to Edonia after Valentine's Day, so why try?**

He never tried enough, but then, he tried to hard and died. Wesker's life sucked.

–xiv–

"Me?" Sherry flirts.

"You are the princess who knows how to shoot a gun and kick a guy's head off, just what I'm looking for."

"Oh really?"

"Of course, you even have a fetish for all my scars." I tease, and for a second, I could have sworn that she would throw the flowers and cup at me.

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day! Hope everyone has a great day!

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15.**

Sherry returned to America, but this time, I was able to see her off. She returns to work as do I.

"Muller, I believe it's time that the ELA stages another coup." Axel proposes.

–xv–

** It has been a long time since I have been in this building. Its business-like walls rival the S.T.A.R.S. hallways. It is hard to believe that I ever worked here before or anywhere else for that matter. I am here to meet with Spencer because he urged and demanded that I come in today. **

The year is 1998; Raccoon City has yet to lose everything.

**'Wesker, I called you in to one, remind you who you work for and two, give you a new task to finish before you are done with the S.T.A.R.S. project.' I sit in the chair across from Spencer. "And what exactly is this task?" It would seem that more than the distribution of the Samurai Edge will be happening this year. 'Both teams have no use to us anymore, so your job is to lure them into my mansion and leave the rest to whatever Birkin has concocted.' Perhaps it is my connection to my team or the fact that Birkin is a complete imbecile that makes me think that this will not work. "You are relying on Birkin to get this job done?" I question with irritation. 'No, that's why I called you in here. Birkin found the G-Virus and just dropped the research on the T-virus. Since you are the only other scientist who is capable of handling the Tyrant, I would like you to modify your original experiment to target those in both S.T.A.R.S. teams. I believe that you won't disappoint me, Wesker; you always were my favorite.'**

Did Spencer say that because he knew of Wesker's immunity or because he believed that Wesker was that smart? And was Wesker's involvement in S.T.A.R.S. only so he could modify the Tyrant?

**"Yes, sir." Spencer smirks. 'So I will see you soon then, Wesker.' He returns to his work on the desk, and I am left with the option to walk out with the deal or refute it to save my team. **

Isn't it obvious what he chose?

**Arriving at the office creates more stress that I could have imagined. Redfield is working on paperwork and stealing glances at Valentine. She stares intently at her given paperwork. Surveys were presented to us about the Samurai Edge, and we are all obligated to complete said surveys. I finished mine at home, but everyone else has waited until last minute to complete them. It surprised me that Valentine of all people put it off until now, but then again, she has been babysitting Redfield so that explains it. She may possibly be the closest person I know in this team.**

Hmmm, Valentine, that name sounds familiar, but in my line of work, every name sounds familiar.

–xv–

"But Axel, we already learned that this is impossible!" I remind him in an ambiguous manner.

"We are the ELA, the Edonian _Liberation_ Army, and it is our _duty_ to free this godforsaken country!" He turns away from me. "But there is one problem."

"The government will gut us?"

"No, when we fix this country and replace this shit government with a working one, we will be the ones who pay the price." He sighs. "Men like you and I will be put on trial for all the murders we have committed for money. We will be found guilty and executed."

"No, we will be heroes for fixing this shithole!"

"Criminal heroes, but I don't plan to let you and all the others pay for the price of our success. I will protect my men until the end."

"But Axel."

"Don't argue with me; you're either in or out."

"I'm in, Axel; you don't even have to ask."

"Kai would be proud." He smiles weakly.

–xv–

** 'Captain, is something bothering you?' Valentine asks again, and I realize that she has been standing in front of me for quite some time. I look her in the eyes, but realize that it is useless because looking someone in the eyes is like looking through one-way glass. I can see his or her eyes, but he or she cannot detect the slightest clue of mine. "No." Yes. Her brows furrow in disbelief. 'You're lying.' "And why do you think that?" I tilt my head in a pseudo-playful manner. 'Normally, you are quick to crack a remark at Chris when you arrive, and when you are working on paperwork, you aren't spacing out. In fact, you never get distracted, so I assume something is extremely askew.' "And why are you concerned with my grievances?" 'You are my captain, so I am obligated as a subordinate to make sure that things are okay with you.' I conjure up a lie, and since she is trying to pry open my issues, I will make up something to make her regret digging. "Do you honestly want to know?" I lure her in. 'If I can help, of course I would like to know.' "Well, I must admit that I find myself quite envious of Redfield, and seeing him with you those handful of months ago made me furious. But you know how it works, and it is frowned upon to be seen with your superior in more than a business way." I stare at my hands. 'Chris and I didn't work out. He was too jealous of everyone, and it made me feel a little claustrophobic. He's a nice guy, but he has his flaws.' "Probably not as bad as having a wife." I will admit that was a horrible joke. 'Are you suggesting that we go out on a date, Captain?' I put my hands up in defense. "You are attractive that much is definitely true, but I am in no mood to get bludgeoned to death by Redfield." 'So, we should enjoy whatever we deem fit, and I'll deal with Chris.' Is my banter really going to lead to a fictitious affair from a fictitious marriage? "I would like that." Maybe it will get my mind off of Anita and relieve my distress with Madeline. Valentine seems happy with it as well.**

Maybe this is a branch into the 'I fucking hate Redfield' segment of his life.

**Perhaps this is not the smartest choice of my life.**

No, being a giant megalomaniac that tried to liberate the entire world of humanity was not the _smartest_ choice of your life.

**But Valentine has a sort of charm and innocence to her that I truly find comforting. I find myself in her apartment, sitting on the couch, holding my head in my hands, confessing the same way I did so foolishly a decade ago. She sits beside me and runs her hand down my back. 'Sometimes we can't explain why we do certain things and so we do them anyway.' Why is it so hard to find someone who will spit blame in my face out of pure disgust? Why is it only me that feels this solid hatred for myself? "I do not understand." She rests her hand on the side of my cheek. 'That's because we're human; we'll always be hard on ourselves because we dislike failure and don't want to get hurt.' Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, but it is too late to take back what has already been done. I just felt the urge to kiss her, and I did. It was wrong of me, but it was a necessity. The way she talks sounds distant, unaware, untouched, alone. I want to reach that side of her.**

Women were just the ultimate weapons on him.

–xv–

"Hello?" She answers, and I don't know why I called her,

"Hey, super girl." I greet nervously.

"How are you?"

"Just fine, I was wondering if you just had time to talk."

"Sure, I'm kind of tired, so I'm sorry if I'm unresponsive."

"I'll call tomorrow?"

"No, I just – I can't sleep."

"I'll stay here then, on the phone with you, until you sleep."

"I'd like that."

"Then, I'll do it."

"I miss you." She yawns. "It's cold here."

"Sorry, I'm not a portable blanket." She laughs.

"I wish you were; I never realized how lonely my apartment is." I can hear her sheets ruffle in the background.

"You're not the only lonely one." I wait for her reply, and I kind of hear her slow breathing as she falls deeper into sleep. "Remember when I told you about Axel and Kai?" I know she is sleeping, but I feel like she can still hear me. "Axel wants to attempt another coup, so in a way, I'm happy that you're still where you are."

–xv–

**Spencer provides me with an alibi for where I am and where I have been whenever Madeline asks. I come home later than ever before, and I know it is driving her crazy. She stays up one night to confront me. Odd how she tries to keep a pseudo-marriage together. 'Where have you been?!' Her eyes burn into my skull. "Umbrella, I was rehired for part-time laboratory research." Her hand rests on her hip. 'Albert, I work for Umbrella too, and I sure as hell didn't see you there!' She walks over to me, but some unseen force stops her. 'Is that perfume that I smell off of your coat?!' "I work in an office with one woman, so it is possible –" 'You just said that you were at Umbrella!' Now, it is my turn to get angry. "Why do you care? We are not married." This catches her off guard. 'But we are supposed to look like it!' "Would you like to know where I was? Will that get you to stop whining?" She narrows her eyes at me. 'Yes, some honesty would be nice around this townhouse built on lies!' I refuse to show regret. "Are you truly sure?" I swear she would tear my throat out if she could. 'A thousand times, yes.' "Well, you asked for it; I am home late because I am seeing another woman." She stares at me. 'Seeing means something different for everyone.' She seems to want to romanticize this shipwreck of a relationship. "'Seeing?' It is a nice way of saying that I have been fucking another woman." She continues to stare at me. "It is also not my fault that you are trying to romanticize this fake marriage."**

Well, fuck euphemisms, pure honesty is clearly the way to go.

**'What is her name? Is it Anita?' "I have no need to discuss my personal life with you." She grabs my shoulder. 'I am your wife.' "Pseudo-wife." 'Goddammit, Albert, what do I have to do to get you to play along with this?!' "Stop trying." She really does irritate me.**

So this was when Wesker became a douche.

**Spencer once again calls me in for a meeting. I sit across from him. He is calm in composure, but something about him screams rage. 'I've been hearing the damned near oddest things, Wesker.' He glares at me. "Whatever do you mean, Spencer?" I throw his challenge right back. 'I hear that you've gotten yourself yet another distraction.' "And?" My eyebrow arches involuntarily. 'Don't make it turn out like the other two.' A smirk pulls at his lips. "Other two?" He laughs, and I hate it because I feel stupid as hell. 'Hmmm, it's entertaining that you thought that you just had horrible luck.' My frustration grows. "Horrible luck with what?" 'Women.' "I do not –" 'Just remember, no distractions, if you don't, they will be eliminated. I have no mercy for your women, especially not that S.T.A.R.S. girl.' I want to take him by the collar and make him swear to never threaten something like that ever again, but I know that attempt is futile. Umbrella runs Raccoon City, so by law of syllogism, Spencer has more power than the average man here. 'We're done here.' I just stare back at him.**

Spencer really was a puppeteer of a figure, and Wesker used to be his agreeing Wesker-puppet.

**'What's on your mind?' Jill asks curiously. "Work." She smiles, and that one smile makes all this stress worth while. 'When do you ever think of anything else?' She gently kisses me "Most of the time, it is just right now work is bothering me." 'Chris?' I laugh. "No, he is never a problem; all one has to do to get rid of him is use big words." 'Careful with that tactic, he'll catch ****on.' "I am doubtful of that." Her Payne's gray eyes shine with the reflection of the moonlight. 'Your wife is mad, isn't she?' "She tries to keep us – the dying marriage of a couple – together, and she is failing at that. She is just frustrated." I pull her closer to me. 'Well, remember that I'm always here.' She smiles, and I kiss her.**

I just feel like Wesker isolates himself because of his losses, which is dumb because everyone eventually moves on. Well, apparently, not _everyone_ moves on.

**Dreams are where all my memories are stored, or so it seems. I dream about Elizabeth and how we would have been together, but the most agonizing of the dreams is of Anita. I cannot depict her face correctly every time, and she is either seething with anger and spite or crying from what I have done. If only she knew how much danger I truly was to her, she would have hated me, right? I tell Madeline not to romanticize us, but here I am romanticizing Anita and our shattered relationship. And although I know where she lives, I cannot bring myself to visit her. She left on her own accords, so why should I further her pain and hatred by pursuing her? I should not.**

Yet, I vaguely remember seeing a tall man with sunglasses as a child, but he said 'should' not 'will not.'

–xv–

I stand outside the large BSAA building. They had the power to stop the civil war, so I would assume that they would have the power to help us stage this coup. I just hate the idea of having to ask Redfield for help. I saunter through the automatic doors and approach the lobby desk. I ask for Redfield, and the secretary gives me a once over and frowns. I guess I should invest in a different coat one day because I assume the secretary noticed the patch on my left arm. Redfield just so happens to be walking by because I'm pretty sure the secretary didn't call him. He wanders over with a sort of shocked look on his face, probably due to my resemblance.

"Redfield, I need a favor." I address him.

"I told you that you can call me 'Chris.'" His face loosens a bit into a casual smile.

"Whatever, I need a favor."

"Depends, what is it?" He asks as he stands in front of me.

"I need to ask you in private." He nods and leads me down hall after hall until we approach a door with 'Redfield' stamped on it. "Look at you with your fancy-dancy office."

"Right," he opens the door.

"Nope, ladies first." He chuckles to himself.

"So what's this uber secret favor?" He makes his way to his desk.

"I need the BSAA to back up the ELA and help stage this coup."

"Lot of acronym usage there." He avoids my intention.

"You know as well as I do that the BSAA has enough power to help over turn this government!"

"You know as well as I do that the BSAA just spent the half a year suppressing the ELA, and then there was a bio-terrorist outbreak. How in the hell would I convince anyone in the BSAA to jump on board?"

"'Cause you're Redfield, flex some muscle and campaign like Uncle Sam." He laughs.

"It's a bit harder than that, Jake."

"Then try harder." I challenge him.

"You're just like your father." Before I can formulate a comeback, he resolves this discussion with, "I'll work on it."

"And I'm not like that bastard."

"Right, you've got Sherry to keep you on track."

"And I'm not _dead_." I retort as I stand up to leave. "Well, I'll go now because your dogs don't really like me that much; it seems that I am a cat person."

"Oh really?" Redfield's eyebrow arches.

"Yeah, I prefer the silent and clean over the loud and slobber-ridden."

"Well, you just asked said dogs to help you."

"Well, said dog killed my bastard dad before I got to, so said dog owes me a favor."

"Someone's feisty."

"When was the last time you were involved in overthrowing a government? Never."

"True, but in America we're a bit more free to say what we want."

"All hail America then." I hiss as I open the door and wander around the halls, trying to find the exit. I stop at a picture in one of the halls. The brass plate underneath it is embossed with the words: "Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance co-founders Clive R. O'Brian, Chris Redfield, and Jill Valentine." The picture is of the three founders. O'Brian is off to the side, but Redfield and Valentine are side-by-side. Is this the Jill Valentine from Wesker's entry? Well, no shit. I wonder though; where is she? Probably America, but like his sister, Redfield never talks about it. Also when I was talking to him there's been something off about him. He's distant and cold, which is something completely different from his anger-driven composure in Lanshiang, but what do I know? He's a soldier; I'm a merc. Back to the picture, it's interesting. For what he does, you wouldn't expect to learn that Redfield is the founder of the BSAA. He seems like the one to take orders like a good dog.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16.**

I flick open the metal lighter, light it, and slam it closed. I repeat, belabor it to be truthful. The flame calms me. I exhale. Axel pats my shoulder. I continue my lighter ritual. I stare at the flame before I shut the cap, and my mind wanders to the fire that Sherry started in the unused fireplace at my apartment. She said she was cold and started the fire; I came home to her wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace and sat next to her, watching the flames dance.

"What about that BSAA guy?" Axel asks as he tightens his tie. "Not lending a hand, I can tell by now."

"He said he'd think about it." I remind as I continue to play with the lighter.

"And the girl?"

"She's in America." I confirm; as much as it irks me that she returned to America, I'm glad she won't get hurt in the crossfire.

"It's better that way, Muller."

"I know."

–xvi–

** Jill sits in the bathtub of her apartment, and I lean against the side of the bathtub. My back is to her; I just like the feeling of another human being in the room. 'You're awfully quiet.' I open my mouth but make the better of the moment. 'Well, normally you rebut that comment.' Her hands rest on my shoulders, gently massaging them. 'Are you okay?' No, I am really peeved by all this foreknowledge. "Yes, I am just thinking." I think about the syringe of T-Virus strain in my coat pocket. I am a scientist after all as well as the bad guy. 'Tell me, if you want to.' Oh, I do, but what would you think? "I am fine; I would not mind just some busy talk." I admit because I know it will get my mind off of things. 'I overheard Madeline talking about a girl you were with, and I honestly got nervous because she mentioned a brunette.' "She was talking about Anita." 'How are you feeling?' I assume she means about Anita. "What else can I do? Yes, I could wallow in my own pity, but I would much rather move on. Staying in one place is a repulsive idea." 'She loved you, didn't she?' "Not enough it seems."**

She loved that douchebag more than life.

**I sit at the office style desk in the tiny office-like room. My hand sifts through all the pictures that I have shoved into these pages. She was beautiful; hell, she always will be. My eyes rest on a picture of us; it provokes a smile onto my face. In this photo, she and I are sitting at a table, and in the most innocent way possible, our lips are locked. It was only a few seconds, but Birkin with his stealth camera caught anything he could see. Things were simple, or I am just deluding myself into that mindset. Madeline marches into the room. "I see you have mastered the art of knocking." I remark sarcastically. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you spent all your time in here getting off to those pictures.' She sneers, and the thought makes me laugh. "Just because I do not find you attractive does not mean that I have to keep old pictures of Anita to stimulate myself." She picks up one of the photos, scrutinizes it for a second. 'Why do you keep this trash anyway.' She turns it over. ''I love you?' Wow.' "Give it back." I command. She pulls out a lighter and lights the picture on fire. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?!" She smiles, dropping the flame covered picture into the ash tray on the desk. My fake back-story said that I had recently quit smoking. Someone went to town writing that. She grabs most of the photos and throws them into the fire. 'She's already forgotten you, so why don't you give up?' She laughs; she is a bitch. **

This is probably why I never got to see the photos that he referenced earlier.

**'Don't get it.' I overhear Redfield admit. I have strategically left my office door ajar to welcome people, so their incessant knocking does not catch me off guard yet again. 'What don't you get, Chris?' Burton asks irately. 'I just don't see how anyone could still love a woman after she leaves. That's ridiculous.' Is it, Redfield? 'You don't get it 'cause you're just a kid, and ****besides, the Captain was with her for ten years. You do that and tell me that you're not fucking pissed if she leaves.' 'I'm not saying I wouldn't be pissed. I'm saying that I don't understand why he's so self-pity and wallowing around in his own pain.' I do not do that. Of course, he pays no mind to the open door. "I am not all self-pity; besides, you would not understand. Unlike your nameless, one night stands, I spent my time and got to know Anita. You are the one who is wallowing in his own pity because you cannot even risk opening up because you are afraid of getting hurt. So the question is who is more of a man, Redfield? You or I?" **

Funny, I would have never pinned Redfield as a one night stand man.

–xvi–

"I thought about it for a long time." Redfield begins, and he's lying. No one thinks about anything for a long time. "I can't help you, sorry. I deal with bioterrorism, and since the ELA has been known recently as an affiliate of Neo-Umbrella, I definitely can't help."

"I didn't expect it anyway, run away with your tail between your legs." I hiss involuntarily.

"Jake, just watch what you're doing; Wesker had goals and would stop at nothing to finish them. Look at what happened to him." There's a pause. "Be careful."

"Sorry, I didn't have my daily dosage of T-Virus; I'll go take it now." I sneer. "I'm nothing like that bastard."

"'T-Virus?' You read the journal." Redfield sighs. "Just don't make his mistake; obsession is dangerous."

"Yeah, well, sorry, the psycho gene runs in my family. You should have known that already." I hang up the phone and throw it at the wall. My patience has worn thin. Too many people are quitting on me within the last minute. This is bullshit.

–xvi–

** Spencer sends me information regarding the next few months, warnings really. He reminded me of Umbrella's desire to use the unsatisfying result of S.T.A.R.S. as test subjects for further Umbrella experimentation. Birkin is on board without a single hesitation, but Spencer knows how much I abhor this idea. He knows that I was the wrong person to appoint as the head of S.T.A.R.S. because unlike Birkin, I will care about the team as people, rather than just disposable things.**

He had a value system, but none of this makes sense.

**The first attack is reported. A man went to the restroom at a local park, returned, and violently assaulted his girlfriend by trying to eat her arm. Revolting to be honest. A big side-effect, if not the main effect, is pure insanity. The media is panicking, along with the people. Some say it is Armageddon; others say that it is the work of a sickening cult. No one would ever assume that it is really just Umbrella conducting its work. The office is filled with theories, none of which are remotely correct. **

He didn't care.

**I pick up a picture with burnt edges. Anita smiles back at me. What would she think if she knew that I was letting all of this happen? Would she call me a monster? Would she beg me to stop all of it? Would she hate me? She already left me, so I guess that is her answer. Jill walks into the room and places a Samurai Edge on my desk. 'You left it at the shooting range, Captain.' Would you hate me, Jill? "Thank you." She nods, hesitates, turns, and leaves. So many people are good at leaving; maybe they should just learn how to stick around for a bit.**

Neglected as a child, he continues to feel alone as a man, the tragedy of Albert Wesker.

**'Maybe you could go to visit her.' Jill suggests as she lies in bed next to me. 'You know where she lives after all.' I stare at her. "What, am I not good enough for you?" I joke. 'You two were together for ten years.' "She left me, so clearly, she was not happy anymore." 'Albert.' She looks at me with genuine concern. I kiss her. "I am fine, and besides, I have you." I brush a lock of hair out of her face, and she smiles kindly. 'As sweet as that is, I feel like sometimes you're not ****even here.' "I apologize, but I have a lot on my mind." 'I know.' If you only knew the half of it.**

He's always pretending like he knows more that he is more adequate than everyone else because to him everyone is inept. It's irritating.

–xvi–

"Jake?" Sherry answers her phone, and I know that this is the last time that I can talk to her for a while.

"Super girl?" I mock; sarcasm runs in my nature.

"How are you?" She asks casually.

"I'm fine, sorta. You?"

"Sort of? I'm well as far as I know."

"Oh, that's good." This conversation just drags on. "I uh...wanted to tell you something."

"I'm all ears." She replies and takes a sip of something from what it sounds like. I bet it's coffee.

"My earliest memory is of me and my mom walking to school." What the fuck? Where did that shit come from? "I had to have been around seven, maybe. She used to walk me to school everyday, made sure I had a piece of fruit and a sandwich for lunch. Ha, you know in Edonia the only fruit that really grows enough for it to be cheap in grocery stores is apples; we were dirt poor. I lived and grew up on apples and sandwiches. We were in a lot of debt..."

"Is that why you like apples?" She asks trying to lighten my mood; she's damn good at doing that.

"I don't particularly like them, but I subconsciously buy them all the time because when I was little we always had apples."

"You sound like you were a cute kid."

"You must be wondering what the hell happened." She laughs, and it's not half as calming as when she's right next to me.

"I think you're not as cute, but you are attractive." I imagine that she's blushing at the thought of whether or not I am attractive.

"So, I'd hate to cut it short, but I have to tell you that I won't be available for a while, sorry."

"It's okay." She sounds like it's not, but that's because it isn't okay.

–xvi–

"And your name is?" The man with slicked back, dark brunette hair in a pinstripe suit inquires.

"Wesker, Albert Wesker." Technically, I'm only half lying, nothing to break into a sweat about, right?

"'Wesker?' You new around here?" His gray eyes scan my posture, and it's hard for me to keep my upright position. It's odd.

"Well, you could say that; I've been elsewhere for a while now. Still can't find my way around this place sometimes." I feign a laugh.

"So why are you here?" His eyes narrow with his true interrogation.

"I came back to pursue my deferred dream of participating in Parliament." His eyes widen in shock.

"You haven't heard?" I shake my head, going along with this facade. "Kronig has disbanded the Parliament. It happened last year and caused a civil war."

"Really?!" He nods. "Is there any way that I can get into government? It's kind of my dream. Lobbying for someone would be great."

"Hmmm," he thinks about it. "I've been looking for a lobbyist, but I recently acquired one. I'll keep you informed because a friend of mine is looking for one. His name is Schulz; maybe, you've heard of him?"

"I vaguely remember seeing him in the headlines; didn't he take down a rebellion by negotiation?" More like blackmailed and murdered his way out of the rebellion.

"He did, and that's why he's such a respected member in government. However, he can't find a lobbyist to his liking."

"Strange, I'm up for it though." I play along.

"Well, I like you, Albert; I'll put in a good word with Schulz." He winks as I stand up and shake his hand. Perhaps this infiltration thing will be easier than Axel thought.

–xvi–

** 'What?!' Redfield remarks out of shock. "Just as I said, we have recently lost contact with Bravo team." His frustration is written on his face. 'You're lying!' He slams his fist against the desk. "You give it a try, but it will only respond with static." I hand him the earpiece. He holds it against his ear, and his gaze drops to the floor. 'You're right. So what now?' A smirk pulls at my lips at his childish frustration. "I will investigate on my own." Redfield opens his mouth to rebut. 'But -!' I slam both hands down onto the desk in anger. "I am the Captain of this team, and I have absolutely no intention of losing any men! I will investigate on my own!" Redfield frowns in bitter frustration. 'Yes, sir.' He sneers.**

Of course, he would want to go investigate on his own.

**Birkin and I are out to reclaim the Umbrella Training Facility that was abandoned so many years ago. Frustrating is the only way to explain this entire mission. I am accustomed to missions, being the person in charge of Alpha team, but Birkin has absolutely no idea how to be stealthy or accurately fire a gun. I would honestly take Redfield over Birkin any other day. Birkin's foot snags on the door, creating an echo throughout the hall. "Damn it all to hell, Birkin!" I hiss into his face. 'What?! Sorry, I'm not good with this kind of stuff!' He tugs at his collared shirt out of nerve-wracking concern of being caught. "Why are you nervous anyway? No one is here!" 'Then why are we whispering?!' "You know, squatters like to stay in these abandoned buildings sometimes." He nods in agreement, and then we continue on through the building.**

Two scientists running around an abandoned building; what could possibly go wrong?

**We make our way through a majority of the rooms; our memory is somewhat fuzzy since the last time we were here we were seventeen and sixteen. Now at the ripe age of thirty-seven and thirty-six, it seems that we are inept when it comes to remembering every niche of this facility. We have been in here for a little over an hour, and right when we thought we were done, a familiar voice echoes through the hall. 'Wesker? Birkin? What a wonderful reunion.' A maniacal laugh soon follows. 'Playing policemen now? Are we? Am I the villain? I think that is somewhat unfair, seeing as you two murdered me and all.' We stare at the source of the voice; my gun is level with my line of sight. The safety is off, and my finger tempts the trigger. We have to squint to make out the silhouette of a definitely inhuman form. One arm is definitely longer than the other as it hangs next to the figure's knees; its back is hunched as it staggers towards us. 'Oh my dear boys, don't tell me that you don't recognize me.' The thing straightens up its stance; the light reveals the thing's face. This thing is a rotting mutation of Marcus. Birkin drops his gun out of fear, but I take my aim. 'You took my life, so I'm going to take this building.' The mutant sneers. He – it is full of pride, but how long will that last?**

Resurrected dead guys? And so begins the new age of bioterrorism and some sick form of immortality.

**'See, I still made sure to exercise all my options, so I decided to bring one of your friends along. Boys, do you remember the T-001? The very same one that you left in holding when you left for Arklay? Forever forgotten and lonely because his creators no longer cared.' He continues to laugh, and I really would love to shoot him in the face. The pale, eight foot tall tyrant looms in the background, stumbling now and then trying to gain stable footing, which I know it will not ever get. Its long fingers hang below its knees, and its heart protrudes distastefully from its chest, heaving with every beat. Its right arm no longer has a hand. All five fingers are replaced by monstrous claws; from its elbow to the tip of its longest claw, the pale skin is repulsively twisted and hardened into a disgusting shell. The eyes were always the haunting part, white with insanity and rolled back into its head. I remember the very day we created this monster. One simple injection was all it took to change your Average Joe into this demonic monstrosity. It throws back its head and cries out, out of anger or pain. I care not which one.**

And I thought the J'avo were fucked up, but it seems it's always the originals that leave the worst impression on the memory.

**It stumbles forward as Marcus begins to flee; I fire a clip into Marcus with absolutely no effect. Of course, it would have no effect; he is dead after all. I grab a new clip and slam it into my gun as Birkin clumsily grabs his off of the floor. 'I never thought that I'd see the tyrant again.' He admits nervously, but who would not be nervous? The tyrant was made to intimidate.**

And who would have thought that Wesker himself would become the most vicious, intimidating tyrant to ever exist?

–xvi–

Axel obviously never murdered Schulz the way he wanted to, but perhaps that would work to our advantage. Schulz was easily manipulable, making him the easiest link to our successful coup. To my disappointment, lobbyist became a mediocre temp job, so basically, it's like a merc job without anyone dying and minimum wage. Such bullshit.

"Hey, you, Wesker kid, I need some coffee, if you don't mind." Schulz calls out to me when he sees me at the door.

"Yes, sir." The fact that I am waiting on him and calling him sir leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I reluctantly get him his coffee without a sarcastic remark because this is the closest we'll ever get to collecting information on what needs to be done and who will have to be taken care of. I grab a handful of creamers and sugar packets along with the mug of black coffee. I walk over to Schulz's office and place the contents on his desk.

"I drink my coffee black." He denotes flatly.

"I'll keep that in mind." I reply, aiming for polite. His eyebrows knit together in thought.

"You look like a woman that I met a few years back." 'Met' isn't the right word for that ass-hat.

"Really?" I arch an eyebrow and play along.

"Yes, she had burgundy hair, but her eyes were emeralds." His voice is lost in reminiscent thoughts.

"Sounds pretty paramount to you."

"She was beautiful, perfect body, perfect personality."

"What was her name?"

"Kai," it takes every fiber of my being to keep from yelling at him, blaming him for taking her away from Axel.

"What happened to her?" Control yourself, Jake.

"She died." Because you fucking killed her, you sick fuck.

"I'm sorry." No, I'm not fucking sorry; I hope you rot in hell!

"It's fine; what could have been done after all?" He smiles weakly.

"Yeah," well, for starters, you didn't have to kidnap her, and to add onto this tangent, you didn't have to fucking kill her!

"You're a good kid." His smile is crooked.

"I try" to wait patiently, so Axel can kill you himself.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17.**

**A/N:** So first, I don't want to disrupt the flow of the story, hence why I avoid such notes, but first I want to thank all the amazing people that follow this story and post positive feedback. I am so glad that you like this story.

Second, lately, I've been swamped with papers and computer work, but no excuses! I try to keep up with an organized updating schedule, but I'm bad with deadlines, which is horrible I know and I'm sorry! I will try my best to get through this with more scheduled updates.

Anyway, sorry for taking your attention away from what you wanted, and remember that I truly do appreciate your feedback. And now you can continue your story...

– –

Who knew I would be so busy running errands for Schulz? It's dumb. I had to turn my bike over to Axel to avoid being recognized. I have to wear a suit and tie everyday, especially with one of those stupid tie clip things. I had to get a leather belt and a new coat. I feel like a square.

–xvii–

**'I honestly regret creating that thing!' Birkin screams as he tries to pick a point to aim at. "You are a fucking liar." I hiss. A smirk pulls at his lips. 'I had to prove to Umbrella that I was better than Alexia!' Greed was all that ran his mental machinery. "Damn it all, Birkin; she was a twelve year old girl!" I level my sights with the T-001's head; assuming that it is a living being, a few blows to the head will put it down for good. 'Age doesn't matter, Wesker.' I fire a round, smack into the thing's head. "Shut up, Birkin! Just shut up! You just cannot face the simple fact that some people will be better than you, can you?!" I finish the rest of the magazine in the thing's head, and it falls backwards onto the ground. All its noises cease, and I assume that it is dead. Time to move on and find that bastard, Marcus. 'Doesn't it bother you? A child being capable of doing our work!' He laughs at the idea. "I believe if you have the right skills and practice something over and over; I believe that you deserve to succeed and acquire credit. I mean think about how many people wanted nothing to do with us; what if they treated us like you treat her? We would not be here." He stares at the T-001. 'Well, here isn't really far from the start.' He sneers as he eyes the door way to a poorly funded laboratory. Roughly twenty years ago, we were in that very room, playing with harmless cold viruses. **

Playing is a relative term, and clearly, Wesker's playing meant mass murder...

**We wander the corridors of the irritatingly unfamiliar building. Birkin keeps trying to remember our dumb, elementary experiments. His stuttering and struggle with forming the correct words to say when describing his reminiscent thoughts make him sound inebriated and utterly average. We walk about the rooms, and I secretly hope that we never run into another abandoned project. "How about we split up?" I offer. 'What?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!' Birkin panics. "We will be able to cover more ground, and you are not an imbecile. If you see Marcus, just pull the trigger! Use your brain!" He cowers at the idea. 'But I'm just a scientist.' "Okay, scientist, use the muscle in your finger to pull the trigger which causes the gun to fire a bullet that will tear through skin like a bitch. Was that smart enough for you?!" 'But...' I just begin to walk away; I cannot supply him with more parenting. I am done with him at this point.**

Birkin really has no common sense, which makes me wonder why the smartest men have no common sense whatsoever.

**I make my way outside; I need fresh air. This building is relentlessly stressful. My eyes close, relishing in the slight illusion of rest. When they open, they fall upon the monstrous six foot seven and a half inch tall [Sergei] Vladimir. He dons his navy blue trench coat, as always. He is Spencer's favorite, and he cares for no one but Spencer. They are the closest of co-workers, and something is seriously amiss if Vladimir is here of all places in this godforsaken country. He turns around; his cold, fearless eyes narrow at the very sight of me. 'What are you doing here?' He ****hisses. His breath is visible in this frigid climate. "I am working on completing a mission." I reply coldly. I do not like him, and it is not because of his unusual, towering height. He points at the door to the facility. 'That is your mission, reclaiming this building.' "Why? The virus has already escaped, and this building no longer means anything. We should destroy this building and all its evidence of the Tyrant." He stomps over to me; his condescending glare burns into my head. 'Do not argue with me! You think because you have a slight grasp on science that you are in charge of Umbrella?! How foolish are you?! You work for Spencer, so shut your mouth and go back to work!' His autonomous bodyguard rounds the corner, no doubt in reaction to Vladimir's sudden change in tone. If I play my cards correctly, I can leave this oppressive hand of Umbrella's control.**

Well, isn't _he_ the rebel of the family?

** 'I think you need to be reminded who is in charge and of how worthless you truly are.' He hisses as he whispers something into his bodyguard's ear. His bodyguard has no expression, and as far as I know, he has no eyes either. His strange, blue-tinted sunglasses are grafted into his skin. His appearance is synonymous with that of the horror-themed surgeons that terrify people in their nightmares. Well, this will be interesting; I never knew much about T-103.**

Shakespeare was wrong. All the world's a chessboard, and the only one who matters is the king.

–xvii–

Schulz is filing through papers, and I should be doing the same thing but find myself itching to check my phone. Maybe the concept of a week of no contact with anyone but Schulz and other uptight suits is driving me crazy. My phone has been on, and I've kept it on silent but haven't checked it this entire week. Who knew how isolationist I was? I know now, and it sucks.

"Wesker," Schulz calls from his office, and I am on my feet and walking over to his office.

"Yeah?" I walk into his office and sit in the chair across from him.

"So I did some research," he turns his laptop around for the screen to face me. "And it would appear that an old friend of mine has reappeared on the warning map."

"Friend?" My eyes lower to the screen and meet with a digital representation of Axel's green-hued teal eyes.

"I hope you're not dense enough that you didn't note the sarcasm." He sighs. "Axel Luka Muller, the most persistent, irritating leader of the Edonian Liberation Army, a bunch of anarchists that got their hands on weapons." _Muller?!_

"Did you say 'Muller?'" He glares me in the eyes.

"I did; why do you know him? Or even better his relatives?"

"No," you would like that, wouldn't you?

"Right, besides, I've been meaning to ask where does the name 'Wesker' originate from? I know Albert is German."

"Wesker is a mix of Polish and German." I hope?

"Ah, that makes sense." He reclaims his laptop. "So, I need you to do a job for me."

"What kind of job?" I arch an eyebrow. "I'm just a lobbying temp."

"I need you to rendezvous with Axel and get some information on his plans."

"Are you sure that it's safe? He is an anarchist..."

"Well, if anything goes to shit, give the police a call." He turns around in his chair. "I expect nothing but the best from you, Wesker." Even when you apply his name outside of scientific research, everyone expects the best from Wesker.

–xvii–

I call Axel before I step onto his doorstep. He opens it and gives me a friendly hug. Schroder appears from around the corner of the room, followed by Fischer, Schneider, and Schmid. We all sit in the living room, and it looks like I won't be able to ask Axel about his surname. But I will get to it.

–xvii–

**Vladimir's bodyguards were created to never die, never fail. I deliver a punch to T-103's neck, and it staggers back in response, quickly recovers, and grabs me by my neck. It's hands begin to compress as I try to kick it, attempt to deter it from crushing the first vertebrae in my spinal cord. My windpipe is closed before I can regain any foothold in this fight; in fact, my feet are no longer on the ground. Spots are dotting my vision, but that Vladimir is smirking his face off. That bastard. Then, I have to admit that I have never been happier when Birkin fucked up than now. It startles T-103, and his hands instantly pull away. Vladimir demands something at T-103. After it dropped me like the plague, I keep on my stomach on the ground. Vladimir stares in disappointment and fear at the explosion over head as I begin to crawl away. It is not that I was truly injured, but I need to avoid T-103 to keep my head. However, it has other plans; I learn this as its foot presses down on my back. I slowly roll over to avoid the possibility of shattering my back. I stop when I am staring straight at the blue visor covered face. My hands grab its foot and yank it to one side, and my hopes are restored as I hear the thud next to me. I lift myself to all fours, make my way over to it, and I press my left forearm against its neck; it struggles against this pressure. My right hand rises and makes direct contact with the synthetically fused visor. I continue this action over and over until the the sound of cracking glass can be heard. The glass shatters in the left lens of its glasses, exposing its repulsively forced back eye. I continue punching it over and over until I am assured that it is indeed stunned, convulsing is a better term. Vladimir is still staring at the fire from the explosion. "I guess he did not like his lesson." I whisper under my breath as I continue crawling my way away from here. I need to get back to S.T.A.R.S. and prepare for the investigation of the mansion. I will thank Birkin some other day. As for me, I am done with Umbrella, and I will never have to take orders from bastards like Spencer or Vladimir. I will be my own.**

If only he had done this sooner – leaving Umbrella that is – my mom wouldn't have had to leave.

**"Jill," I greet her as I stand in her doorway. 'Albert,' a smile pulls across her lips. 'You weren't at the office today.' She pulls me into her arms and simultaneously into the apartment. "I had business with other police departments in the area; they are going crazy about these 'zombies.'" 'I knew there was a reason that they say not to get involved with your superiors.' I kiss her; my hand caresses her jawline. Her hand slowly removes my sunglasses. 'You know, Chris keeps saying that men who wear sunglasses inside are douchebags.' "What do you think?" She laughs lightly. 'I think you do it just to piss him off.' I laugh. "Perhaps." Her hands rest on my waist, and her eyes widen a bit. 'What happened to your neck?' Her right hand ghosts over my neck. "Nothing." Her eyebrow arches in slight irritation. 'Albert.' "Do not worry about me." I kiss her again. "Honestly, I am fine." She rests her head against my shoulder. 'I will always worry about you; you go places when I don't know. I worry that you won't return.' Anita used to do that too. Maybe keeping everyone at arm's distance is going to be hard because nothing can ever be the truth.**

She will always be on his mind.

**My eyes snap open to the red glare of the clock. 2:19. Jill is asleep, and the comforter is pulled up to her chin. I exhale sharply; she puts up with too much of my shit. But is that not the problem for anyone who chooses to stand by me? I owe her so much. She keeps me sane, but I continue to hurt her, like last night. Her eyes blink open. 'Albert' I stare at her as she rubs her eyes sleepily. "Go back to sleep." I whisper playfully as I pull her back into my arms. Her head rests against my chest. 'Don't worry about it.' "About what?" Her finger traces the natural lines across my skin. 'When you said 'Anita,' I mean you two were together for so long; who am I for trying to –?' "Please do not start that. Yes, I was with Anita for a long time, but that is over because of my own inept ability to take care of her. What I did was unforgivable, and you should never feel insecure because of me. I am sorry that I do such stupid shit."**

Stupid shit is right, but when were you ever sorry?

–xvii–

"So, they're planning to get the BSAA involved?" Schulz asks after I just told him. It was true we were trying to pander Redfield into agreeing with our cause, but he would never come to help.

"Indeed." I nod in response.

"So, now that Axel's threat is defused, I have to give my congratulations to you." He walks over to me and hugs me as a friend. That hug turns sour strikingly and quickly. Within seconds, his hand is slammed into my back, and a knife slices dangerously but easily through my skin. My body freezes, and all I can feel is an overwhelming cold... "You're looking good for a fifty-three year old dead man, _Wesker_. Oh, and Bauer would be proud. Family is everything, and you fucked up by killing mine, Jake Muller." My hand strangles the life out of Schulz's jacket, trying to hold me up.

"You know, resilience runs through my family." A smirk forces its way upon my face, as my hand reaches for my gun.

"Oh really? What about your whore mother?" He laughs, and my finger shakily flicks off the safety of the gun.

"Fuck you!" I can't control my arm to get the gun out of its holster.

"You're mother already did that, and she was damn good at it." My hand takes an iron grip on the butt of the gun. Screw Axel's revenge, Schulz dies now.

"Shut the fuck up!" I whip out the gun, and he continues to laugh. I can't keep my hand steady to aim. His laughing resonates in my head as dots spot my vision. My head begins to feel light. My left hand yanks his jacket down, and my right hand shoves the gun into the under side of his chin. The only regret I felt when I pulled that trigger was that it was too close to my head, and my ears rang like a bitch. Well, that and I fell to the ground. My hand drops the gun and refuses to pick up my phone correctly. When I finally get a hold of the piece of shit, my hand hits the right keys in succession, and the phone begins to ring. My body feels cold, and my eyes feel heavy. My back feels like it's on fire.

"Hello?" I can hear her reply, and I wish I could bring the phone to my ear.

"Super girl?" I try to mock, but my voice is waning thin.

"Jake, are you okay?!" She sounds scared.

"Sure," I inhale sharply and instantly regret it. "Where are you?"

"The grocery store, why?" I choke out a laugh.

"Who would have thought?" Tears find their way to my eyes. "Who would have thought that this would be how we say goodbye."

"Jake, are you okay? You sound weird."

"Super girl, do you want me to be honest?"

"Of course I do!" I chuckle. My body is freezing, but my back is searing with pain. How does that work?

"I'm scared, super girl. I'm honest to God – or whomever makes this shit happen – scared out of my fucking mind." The dots have turned into screens, and my vision is distorted. My head is pounding.

"Jake - ?!"

"Just to set shit straight, super girl, I –" My eyes are too heavy to open, and my mind shuts down to conserve the much needed but severely limited and depleting blood supply. Super girl, I want you to be happy. Promise me, when I'm gone, you'll do whatever it takes to move on and be happy again, like you were before this shit storm that I threw at you. You're strong enough to do it without me because it was really me that needed you after all.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18.**

I must be dreaming or dead. I watch my own memories like a movie. We're all sitting at a table, all three of us: Mom, Thomas, and me. It's someone's birthday, and Mom's actually happy. The candles are lit, and the singing begins. She kisses Thomas on the cheek; I assume it's his birthday. He holds her hand as he blows out the candles. And like a movie, the scene fades out.

Another scene fades back in; it's so simplistic and surreal. To think that I was a part of a picture perfect family is unrealistic to me, but I was at some point. It was just the three of us. Thomas' hand holds mine as well as Mom's. He was always busy, but for us, he made as much time as he could and so the women at the hospital despised our family. It's been so long. The scene fades out.

I don't remember this moment. Thomas' eyes are cold, and Mom is crying. He holds her closely, trying to comfort her, but it seems to be ineffective. And he knows it isn't working. _"It runs in my family." _He smiles weakly. Papers are sprawled on his bed; 'Thomas Erik Mueller' is printed on a majority of them. The others are littered with medical regulations. _"It's an easy procedure, and I'm sure that they'll finish it flawlessly." _He kisses her forehead. _"You and Jake shouldn't worry." _He wipes her tears away. The room fades away.

It didn't go well, and I know that. To see this moment again is even more heart-wrenching. The tombstone is the standard, embossed with 'Thomas Erik Muller 1960 – 1999' and other identification specs. 'Loving son and brother.' They didn't recognize his marriage with my mom, and to expect respect from his family on a day like this was asking too much. His sisters and his brothers' wives turned up their noses; they were 'too good' to be in any relation with my mom. She focused on the piece of polished granite; I didn't understand then. All the things that his family said about her. _"She only seduced him for his money." 'She probably slept around with his coworkers.' "That child isn't his." 'She doesn't deserve to be here.' "Why won't she leave already?" _I assume one of his brothers' wives convinced his older brother to talk to my mom. A tall man wearing a black tux approaches Mom; his hand gently rests on her shoulder. _'I'm sorry, but this is a family affair. You need to leave.' _He looks at the ground. "You're Klaus; he talked a lot about you and about how much he looked up to you." His hand covers his face. "He loved his family, and I'm sorry that I intervened." She smiles weakly. "But I told him that he could walk away whenever he wanted, and he chose to stay. I did not force anything upon him." His sister's eyes burn with anger as she stomps over to Mom and slaps her. _'You are a lying whore! You ruined his life! Now leave, you're tarnishing his memory!'_ Mom looks towards Thomas' mother. "I'm sorry, and I wish I could fix everything." _'Then you should have left well enough alone.' _"You're right." She walks away, holding my hand, and the picture perfect family is broken.

I remember when we got home she locked herself into her room, and you could hear her crying. I never understood why people had such a hatred for her because she's never done anything. Thomas Mueller loved her, and she got punished because of it. Hours may have passed, but I can't quite remember. I watch as Axel slams open the front door and pounds on Mom's door. _'Anita, please open this door!' _No answer. _'You know I'll kick this fucking door down.' _No answer. _'Answer me!' _Kai walks through the front door and holds me in her arms. She is apologizing for some foreign reason. Axel is still pounding on the door. _'Anita!' _He kicks the door down as promised and finds her sitting on the bed, crying her eyes out. "I wish you would stay out of it; I'm fine." _'My ass, you're fine!'_ She chokes out a laugh. "They hate me and will blame me for the rest of my life." He wraps his arms around her. _'So? They don't know the difference between their ass and their face.' _"They're also kicking me out of here, so they probably want their door fixed." _'Fuck them and their door. You _were_ in his will, and if they cut you out, I'll break all their damn doors.' _Kai walks over to the bedroom, sits by Mom, and pulls a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I ruin everything." _'Bullshit, you haven't ruined me and Kai or Jake.'_ "They knew that Jake wasn't his child." _'He loved Jake like he was his child, so what matters?' _The room fades black.

The sun brightens this screen that streams all of these memories. The pitiful grass bends and flattens against the ground. I know where this is. _Fuck_. Axel stands next to me; Kai cries into his shoulder as Lily holds my hand in a somewhat comforting manner. 'Anita Jessika Muller 1962 – 2007.' I bite my lip to curb the feelings that move my entire being. Axel pats my back.

Hours pass, everyone's gone. I sit on the ground in front of the gravestone. It's pleasantly silent, and the sun is shrouded by clouds. People may not mourn her death, but the weather will. A man walks up to the grass next to me. He's dressed in black, talk about weird. And there's the sunglasses, when it's cloudy. Talk about douchebag. He clears his throat. _"Is this really Anita Muller?" _He points at the stone. "No, she's in the ground six feet under, dumbass." He inhales sharply. _"What I meant is surely understood." _"Yeah, yeah, what did you come here for? To criticize her for being a whore? Spit on her grave and leave." He stops, kneels, and runs his hand over the embossed letters. _"No, I came to see her one last time, but it seems that she has beaten me." _He looks at me. _"Was she happy?" _"As happy as someone with her life could be." _"Are you her son?"_ I turn towards him. _"Simple deduction, you have her eyes."_ "And how would you know, ass–?!" _"I just do."_ He sighs as he stands back up. He places a simple gladiola on her grave. _"You used to love these." _He whispers as he walks away. _"...still...you..."_ I never heard what he said. The graveyard goes dark.

–xviii–

I open my eyes. My back still sears with pain. Axel is sitting in the room with a bottle of vodka. He fumbles with his thumbs, takes a swig, and repeats. I sit up slowly. He sighs and drags his chair to the bedside. He looks tired.

"How?" I ask somewhat delusional.

"I put Schroder at gun-point and made him." He informs flatly.

"Why gun-point?"  
"He kept blabbering about how he always gets the short end of the stick, whereas you get the longest. Basically, his jealousy made him think it was smart to call Schulz and tell him that you weren't really who you said you were."

"You're lying. Schroder wouldn't do that, and why did Schulz say your name was Muller?" He runs his hand through his hair nervously.

"Look, kid, your mom was going to skin me alive because of the risk of something like this –" he points at my back – "happening. She was my um." He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. He takes another swig.

"She was your what?" My eyes narrow in suspicion.

"She was my little sister, but you know how this job works. I don't give out my last name because I didn't want her or you to get hurt. And then you appeared at my door demanding work, and I turned you down and yelled at you to go away because I knew she would be worried sick about you. She begged me to let someone else take over, but she knew that would never happen." He presses his hand against the bridge of his nose. "I was a selfish asshole; fuck, I still am. Kai told me to cut it off and hand it down to you, the whole ELA, but then she changed her mind and told me to choose some other 'crone.' 'He's still just a kid,' she'd say. She told me to quit _so _much, but this job is like an alcoholic's alcohol."

"I think you're being more of an alcoholic at the moment." I remark as I take the bottle of vodka away from him and take a swig for myself. He chuckles. "So, 'Axel Luka Muller' that's interesting."

"What? Got a problem with my name?" He challenges. "Jake Aleks Muller."

"The Muller family likes the k's doesn't it? And I definitely didn't think you'd be a 'Luka.'"

"I must say my sister had a unique way of spelling Alex." His laugh fades out, and his mouth falls into a frown. "So I know that you just woke up and shit, but –"

"But we must all be Debbie Downers now."

"You killed a government official. I had Kruger swap your gun with mine, and I fired a round before we switched the guns and switched the bullets." He hands me my gun.

"First, I plead self defense. He stabbed me."

"This is Edonia, Jake. You know how these cases work."

"So?"

"I have a plane ticket for you and all your stuff packed in the other room. You can't stay here."

"Then where am I supposed to go? And what about you?!"

"Chris Redfield is bringing you to New York City with him, and I – well, I don't know where I'll end up."

"Yes, you do. You're just a liar."

"Damn, you caught me."

"Wish I didn't."

"I do too."

–xviii–

I remember boarding the plane, but I don't remember getting off. I awake in a hospital bed with an intravenous link along with a patch of gauze taped to my back with medical tape wrapped around my chest. My head is pounding. The doctor walks in with a kind smile; she brushes her hair behind her ear.

"Good morning, Mr. Muller," she greets softly.

"It's Jake." I look at her name tag. "Dr. Chilton."

"The person who brought you here was worried about you; he just phone asking if you were still out. But you seem to be doing fairly well compared to a few days ago."

"Right and where are we exactly?" Her kind features never contort to irritation.

"We are in a hospital right outside of New York City."

"Right, what happened?"

"Well, Mr. Redfield said you two were on a plane and you had been in a car accident recently. He also said that you had lost consciousness and began to convulse. When you got here, we had to stitch one of your arteries, but we've stabilized your blood pressure. And you should be back on your feet in a few days." I nod in acknowledgement. "If you need something, just call." She walks out.

"Bullshit," I slide the intravenous lines and all the other bullshit out. I don't want to be here. I wander over to a bag of my clothes and try to find my phone. My hand runs across it and instinctively dials Axel's number. The call goes straight to voice-mail. I throw my phone back in the bag, and my eyes fall upon a piece of paper. 'Call Sherry; she's worried about you. –Chris' I grab my clothes and get dressed. I check my phone and read all of the messages that she sent over the month of my incognito existence. Simple little one-liners that remind me that perhaps, just maybe, someone still truly cares about me. _"I love you, and remember, you're not a monster." _I am his son after all, and no one could possible understand a Wesker without being one.

**A/N:** First, I must apologize for the the late update. Second, I must also apologize for no Wesker within this chapter. Third, I must apologize for the short update. But most importantly, I'm happy to have your support through all of this disorganized updating. I've been busy with paperwork and transferring computers, but nevertheless, I shall try to update sooner.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19.**

Sherry, I try so hard not to think about her too much because it always gets me into shit, and then someone's mad at me because I can't get my 'head screwed on straight.' I call her and subconsciously bite my lip; I never thought I would get this nervous talking to her or just hoping she would answer the phone. The dial tone rings a few times, and I have already begun to give up optimism.

"Hello?" I exhale out of relief, but I never knew I was even holding my breath.

"Super girl," I sigh, and I can feel a dumb smile pulling at my lips as I sit on a bench outside the hospital.

"Jake, are you okay? Chris left your stuff at my apartment because he didn't know where else to bring guns, definitely not a hospital." She rants, and I miss that.

"Where exactly is your apartment?"

"I'll come and get you, the hospital, right?" I can hear her maneuver to get her coat on.

"Yeah," now, I wait, leaving me to my own thoughts which are the things I've been trying to avoid. Kruger hasn't called about Axel, but it'd be even better if the bastard called me himself. I run my hands through my hair; it's gotten longer than I'd like it to be.

–xix–

**Today is the day that we investigate what happened to Bravo team. I must say that we are already encountering problems: Redfield is off a beat, Burton is complaining about his 'dinky, girly pistol,' and Jill is nervous. Today is the day that I must 'return' to my work with Umbrella, but in all honesty, I want to let them burn to the ground. It makes no difference to me; however, when we arrive, I must check on Birkin because God knows that he fucked up somehow. Luckily, Jill is not the kind of woman to be disillusioned with love and did not waste yesterday's evening confessing any such nonsense. She is quite persistent that when this is all over I will got to Edonia and see Anita again; she believes it will help in some sort of mental cleansing way. I think it is pointless.**

The year is 1998, and he's planning to go see Mom. Things are starting to fall into place; I finally understand.

**We strap on our vests and weaponry and set up our communication. All of this playing to be ended by the mere fact that none of them should make out alive from this, but if one should make it out, it would mean nothing to me because by the end of tonight I will be done with Umbrella. Should I keep my promise? Should I go visit Anita?**

He will because he knows as well as anyone that he cannot give up the opportunity to see her again, but she'll break his heart. Isn't that what she does best?

**In the end, I have decided that I will follow my initial plan and lure the S.T.A.R.S. members into the mansion. Their superior combat training should make them perfect test subjects. ****I have mapped out an entire strategy that will place every member of Alpha team past some sort of biologically altered hazard. I have started by having Vickers drop us within running distance from the mansion. Within seconds after landing, a familiar growl catches my ear, but the Cerberus should not be out here. Unless Birkin is being a brash idiot which is not surprising. Out of fear, Vickers gives into his fight-or-flight instinct, which tuns out to be flight. Of course, these dogs are none of my concern, seeing as I used to spend hours on end tending to their experimentation; however, they quickly overwhelm Alpha team to my disappointment. If they were to be killed by Doberman Pinschers, how disappointing would that be? Mere seconds later, the team's fear is gone, and they are fighting off the endless horde of dogs. I slowly join in and kill off some of the least impressive experiments by far. I notice out of the corner of my eye that Frost is not watching his back but watching Redfield's. A grave mistake on Frost's part, and Frost is soon brought to the ground by a dog, soon two, and more rapidly increasing numbers. Redfield yells something, but there is no point. Frost is gone, and I am disappointed.**

Is this what hardened his mind? Did his patience wear thin due to all the disappointment?

**We all walk to the mansion in complete silence. Jill picks the lock of the mansion ****silently. "We should split up." I project out into the group. 'Why?' Redfield eyes me strangely. "We need to comb the entirety of the mansion, and we can only do this if we split up. Agreed?" Burton nods. Jill agrees. Redfield is still reluctant. We go our separate ways. Burton walks into the house and up the stairs; I walk into the familiar mansion and head towards the basement. Jill stays with Redfield and tries to coax him into the mansion. The nostalgia of this building is overwhelming, and the memories are heavy and plaguing my mind. I soon make up my mind and take a servant-like staircase up to the top level of the estate to find Burton and convince him to help me get this terribly disappointing night over with.**

His impatience is incredible.

**Within a matter of a few minutes, I 'bump' into Burton who is definitely on high alert, so this should be easy. "Burton," I call in a commanding tone. 'Ah, Captain, I almost shot you.' He sighs. "Well, it is good that you did not do so. I am only human you know. Anyway, I need you to find Redfield and Valentine and lead them through a different path of the mansion." His eyebrow arches in suspicion at this idea. 'And why should I do that? Redfield's right; you've been acting pretty shady lately.' He lifts his gun and begins to aim it at my chest. "Well, you have caught me it seems, but it is no matter to me. You will do as I say unless you want to be guilty for not being able to protect Kathy, Moira, and Polly because you were at a mansion playing hide and seek with scientific demons." He stares at me. 'You wouldn't.' "How can you be sure that I will not?" He looks away. 'Fine.' he hisses. 'But tell me, what did they give you to get you to turn on us?' "What? Well, I will let you ponder that at night when you are sitting next to your wife, remembering that you are the one that killed your team mates. You can have a family or a team, not both." I believe my damage is done there, so I wander back to the basement.**

This is more of a Wesker that we know and love.

**While going over all the experiments Birkin and I had managed to complete within a decade, something – or most likely someone – tips over a metal tray that create quite a cacophony in such a silent lab. Marini wanders out of the room where the noise emitted from. His eyes widen at my presence. 'YOU!' He yells. "Me." I respond. 'You did this!' He accuses. "I am quite hurt that you would think that I would do something so terrible, or maybe, you are trying to tarnish my reputation because I am the captain of a better team." I pander his accusation. 'No, your name is on all of these papers, and I found your name in the employee log. You're no former soldier. You're a scientist that was hired to play dress up by Umbrella. You tell me what the fuck they want with us!' I cannot stop the laugh from escaping my throat; oh, how easy it is to drive humans to fear. "What do they want? They want you and everyone else –" I pause for him to listen in and raise my gun quickly, level my sights, and shoot him in the head. "Dead." I return to my own self tour of my old workplace.**

Talk about cold.

**I grab my old I.D. badge off of the laboratory table and run it through the card reader, and my eyes fall upon the luminous sewage-sized tube, filled with a scientifically created sludge that radiates with fictitious life preservation. The tube and its filling are not what matters; the reason why the tube and its fillings were made is what matters. The most perfected form of life T-002, my creation. It has slept for six years, and I wonder if it still has functionality. Of course, I should account for the muscle deterioration from this sort of preservation, but it is quite a marvel, something that Birkin could never reproduce with his G-Virus. I hear gunfire ricochet through the air, and I slip out of the room to see who has made it this far.**

Would he still have gotten this bad if she was still with him? Or was he always too far gone?

** I see Redfield and Jill cautiously maneuver through the abandoned lab. Redfield flips through the papers on the laboratory paper and sneers in disgust, but his face twists in confusion, hurt, and anger when his eyes fall upon my S.T.A.R.S. file. How would it feel to know that you were only an experiment to see what kind of destruction we could create? 'I knew there was something off about our 'Captain.'' He hisses and lifts his gun up again. I guess Burton did not do his job correctly. The pair approach the room with the Tyrant and slowly approach the tube with their weapons cocked, safety off. My hand reaches for my Samurai Edge, but it falls upon the syringe that Birkin had given me so long ago. I grab the syringe and inject it in the back of my neck. My neck burns and protests the injection, but the feeling does not spread. How disappointing, but it was from Birkin, so why did I think it could possibly work? "I never truly thought a fool like you would make it this far, Redfield." I approach the doorway to the Tyrant's chamber. I have found the switch to release this creation, and I plan to have it finish them and help me escape Umbrella for the rest of my life. 'What is this?' Jill asks me, narrowing her eyes. "The most perfected life form you will ever see." My neck still burns; the Tyrant must be anticipating its take over of my body. 'This thing is the 'most perfected life form?' You've got a sick sense of perfection, Wesker.' Redfield hisses. "It does not matter about perfection in your eyes; men like you were supposed to be wiped out by natural selection. It seems that even Darwin's perfected theory was wrong." I hit the switch, watch the fluid drain out of the tube, and press my hand to the glass as the Tyrant reawakens for the first time within six years. It flexes its hands slowly regaining mobility; its talon like fingers press against the glass as it begins to rise. I stare at its immense size, pure perfection. How dare Redfield mock a scientific beauty that he will never understand.**

No, Redfield was pretty right; there was nothing perfect about the over-sized demonic, decaying smurf.

**The Tyrant lets out a loud cry; it is rather chilling to hear such a rancid sound, one that only the dead could muster. The glass is gone, and the Tyrant extends its arm back. Within milliseconds, that same arm is thrust forward, and its talons slice through me like butter. And although I know that I will not die – if Birkin did not alter the Tyrant virus – I find my mind racing through comforting memories, and although I had some nice times with Elizabeth Jones and Jill Valentine, Anita Muller holds the monopoly over my focus. I open my mouth to admit the one thing I have never said before. "Good-bye."**

And that was the death of Albert Wesker, well, his humanity at least.

–xix–

Sherry wanders towards the hospital and looks around for me, and when her eyes meet mine, she takes her time and sits next to me, running her hand up and down my back. Redfield must have told her _everything. _I ask her if we can go to the store. She says yes, and we're off to the store. I just wanted to get two things, but I never knew the exchange rate from Edo to the US dollar. I only had five Edo in my back pocket which meant I definitely couldn't afford my eight US dollar purchase. Sherry bought it anyway. I ask her if there's a swimming pool within the area, and she takes me to a pool without the slightest idea of what I'm trying to do. When we get to the pool, I sit at the edge of the pool and start unpacking my groceries. I take a candle and a paper plate out.

"What are you doing?" Sherry finally inquires as she sits next to me at the pool side. I light the candle and balance it on the plate and place the contraption afloat on the water and repeat.

"My mom and I did this once when I was little, and she said it really put her at peace." I continue to set more candle-plate contraptions afloat on the pool. "As I grew up, I realized that fire is somewhat calming for me, so I carry my lighter."

"And the pool idea?" She stares at the candles on the pool surface.

"It's our way of respecting someone who's passed away." I exhale. I found the letter in my coat pocket from Axel, entailing that he knew he was screwed by the time Kruger switched the guns, but he said he was happy in a way that he would soon see his wife and sister. But he apologized for leaving in such a cowardly manner.

"Jake."

"He's dead. My uncle died so I could be here." I reach for another candle, but I seem to have run out. I stare at the flickering flames of the candles.

"Chris told me what happened."

"Did he tell you that he didn't do jack-shit to help us?"

"He thought that if he said no you wouldn't go through with it, but he was clearly wrong."

"No shit." Her hand gingerly brushes my back.

"Chris told me how your uncle was hysterical when he begged Chris to help him."

"Schulz killed his wife, so I don't think he wanted to lose _another_ family member to that bastard."

"Chris said that your uncle mentioned how you were like your mother and that she raised you well."

"He was there the whole time, on the sideline, right outside of my peripheral vision."

"You are like your mother and your father to a certain extent, but I think the similarity to both parents is what makes you your own personality. You have your father's brash attitude with your mother's conscience."

"The brash attitude is actually from my uncle." I laugh lightly.

"I've never met him."

"And –" it looks like you never will... "Have you met any of your relatives?"

"No, my father and mother seemed very estranged from their families, but perhaps that was because they were helping destroy the world in a sense."

"Well, I guess you and I are about equal then, but it's not all that bad. We've done a lot on our own, so what's the difference now?"

"May Axel rest in peace."

"Want to hear something interesting?"

"I'm all ears." She rests her head against my shoulder and watches the candles with me.

"My mother spelled my middle name differently just to stick it to my uncle."

"And what exactly is this middle name?"

"Aleks, spelled A-L-E-K-S because the normal way of spelling it is one letter switch from Axel. My mom was mad at him at the time that I was born, so she told the social worker to spell it unusually."

"I like it spelled her way." She wraps her arms around my waist.

–xix–

**I do not remember much from when I reawakened to the world. I remember telling Chris and Jill that I cannot wait for our sweet reunion and that Sergei changed all the codes to the Umbrella information, so I could not steal my own research back. I have lost my sense of formality. However, I find myself on this street corner across from a white house, a very common white house with a typical mailbox and everything. I keep my sunglasses over my eyes, as I keep my last promise that I will ever make. I wait for what feels like hours, until she walks out of the house. Anita still looks amazingly beautiful, but as I approach her to hear her voice once again, a man walks out of the very same door, holding hands with a young child. My entire body retracts from the general direction of the scene. The man lets go of the child's hand and picks Anita up by the waist, spins her around once, and kisses her. When he sets her down, the child, a young boy, makes his way to her and wraps his arms around her waist. Clearly, she has moved on, so why am I still on this corner of street waiting for her to look my way. And yet, they are the picturesque family that she deserves, and she is so happy. Was she ever that happy with me? I do not think she was. The way she looks at him is genuine, and it is the look she used to give me. It seems that I was not for her, and I am glad that she found the man that will respect and love her enough to marry her. "I always knew you would be a wonderful mother." I mutter to no one in particular.**

Wesker's rolling in his grave right now, knowing that _his_ son is reading _his_ journal about _his _first impression of his own son.

–xix–

Sherry told me to thank Redfield for his help in helping Axel get me here. She gave me directions and a taxi and told me if I didn't she wouldn't talk to me until I did. I walk through the glass doors into a ritzy hotel. The BSAA really pampers Redfield. I wander around the halls until I find room number 892. I raise my hand to knock, but I overhear Redfield talking to someone in the room retract my hand to my side.

"I failed, _again_." Redfield states in anguish.

"What do you mean? You saved the world." A female voice remarks.

"At what expense?! _Everyone_!"

"Chris, they went in with a full commitment."

"But Piers could have been a magnificent leader, and it's all my fault that he was left with such an extreme situation with only one solution."

"You did what you could."

"His family, I can't face them."

"They don't blame you."

"I will."

"Then, share the burden with me."

"But –"

"Remember all those things I did with my own hands? We made an agreement to share our burdens."

"'Otherwise, we'll both go bat-shit insane.'" The female voice laughs painfully.

"I think we already did."

"I love you."

"I know you do, Chris."

"I think you're the only one who understands me."

"No one else has gone through this much shit."

"It only gets worse."

"Trying to scare me off? Just because I don't work in the field doesn't mean I think it's all unicorns and rainbows."

"Jill Valentine, you are one amazing woman."

"Or you're just sick and tired of extraordinary."

"Well, the last extremely extraordinary person I met tried to kill you and me and cloud the entire world in human grade bug spray."

"That was one hell of a reunion." Sometimes, I forget the hells that Redfield went through and the hells that he's _still_ going through, but he's so good at keeping face.

**A/N:** Hopefully, this is not the only update from me for the next few weeks, but I make no promises. However, I am very lucky to have such a supportive audience, and I cannot thank you enough for your support.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20.**

"Jake, this is Jill; Jill, this is Jake." Redfield introduces us to one another.

"Sorry, Jill, I don't have a pail of water." I joke.

"Well, that's because you're Jake." She retorts simplistically.

"Touche." I look at Redfield. "So, Redfield, is she your girlfriend?"

"Fiancé, actually." He smirks that smug smirk.

"That's great!" Sherry interjects.

"Yeah, it's nice to be home." He wraps his arm around Jill's waist. I have decided to disregard that evening when he was bawling his eyes out. He deserves his dignity. Jill just stares at me like I'm a serial killer on the lam. She whispers something into his ear, and he nods in recognition. "He really does."

"I do what?" I inquire.

"You look like your father." Jill states flatly.

"So I've been told."

–xx–

**I will get my answers today. I don't understand why I let this sit I the back of my mind for four years. Four years, I've let Spencer live with his deceitful, conniving ways. I place my sunglasses on the bridge of my nose as I slam the front doors of his estate in Europe open. I have no patience. The bastard has gotten everything he wanted: Birkin dead, his ties erased, a successful record of every experiment I performed, but I won't let him own me. He needs to die. The mansion is almost identical to the one in Raccoon City, so it didn't take long for me to get to his study. The man himself is a husk of a man; funny, how he preached about his immortality. Yet here he is bound to a chair because he was sorely mistaken; I have achieved immortality while he has not. 'And here they said you would never come back, Wesker. I thought you were dead.' "You – more than anyone – know I'm more resilient than that." 'Lost our formalities have we?' "I don't need formalities." He turns around in his chair. 'To think that wench would have curbed this monster.' He snickers. "What are you talking about, old man?" 'What was her name again? Annie? Anna? Oh, I remember –' "Anita." My jaw tightens, remembering the last time I saw her with her picturesque family. 'Yes, that whore, but she would have left you anyway if she knew what you really were.' "And what is that?" He laughs. 'You're barely human; you have no idea when you were born or of either one of your true parents or if you ever had a family besides the one I planted you in. You were part of a new superior breed of humans; you only existed as my tools for creating a new world. That woman should have never met you, so I had to send her away, just like I did with that other woman who you were close to.' Anger seeps through my every pore; this man forced Anita away and into another man's arms and marriage. He continues his raving tangent about his accomplished Progenitor Virus, but then, he says the last thing he deserved to ever say. 'I was to become a God!' **

Funny, that phrase sounds a bit familiar.

**I'm still amazed by my own speed, but then again, this is no time for self flattery. I lean forward as I stand behind his chair and whisper into the bastard's ear. "That right is now mine." I would have killed him anyway, but he hastened his own death claiming that he was godly and admitting what he did to Anita and Elizabeth. I lift him by his neck; he's such a feeble man, making this effortless. I thrust my hand through his chest and throw his soon-to-be lifeless corpse onto the floor. "I believe I should thank you, Spencer. After all, if Anita were here, I would have trouble with such an exhilarating action. The French-styled double doors smash open, and there they are, the power couple. Jill is quite shocked to see me or rather Spencer's already decaying corpse on the floor. It seems that Chris has become a dog over the past four years.**

He's _still_ a dog.

–xx–

I've decided to stop moping around Sherry's apartment and take up Axel's final wish. _"They're alive, your grandparents. They moved to the States. I spent an entire week tracking them down. Visit them."_ Sherry found me a bike, so I take that out to the suburbs of Syracuse, New York. I stop at a two story house with a porch and everything. I make my cautious way up the steps to the front door. My hand folds into a fist and taps the door, and instantly, I regret it. An elderly woman comes to the door. She eyes me wearily.

"Hello?" She answers. "Do you need directions somewhere? Since that's all people stop by here for..."

"No, I – well, I promised Axel that I'd come here." I state bluntly.

"I haven't heard a name like that in years." She sighs. "When you get old, you'll cherish your children because it gets lonely when no one comes to visit..."

"Axel was my mom's brother."

"Is that so?" She cocks her head to feign interest.

"Mrs. Muller," she looks at me in my eyes to acknowledge her attention. "Anita Jessika Muller is my mother, and her brother, Axel Luka Muller, told me to come visit you on their behalf." She stumbles back a bit and turns towards the kitchen.

"Ludwig, you've got to see this boy!" An elderly man joins the woman at the door. "He says that he's Anita's son!" The man readjusts his glasses and takes quite the gander at me.

"Well, of course the boy is!" The woman stares at him in shock. "He's got her hair and her eyes. He's her son all right! Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Well, Anita and Axel, they're um..." I scratch the back of my head as I ramble on.

"Come in, son. It's strange of you to just stand on our porch!" I nod and follow the two into the kitchen. I wait until both of them are sitting at the table, eagerly awaiting the news of their son and daughter. "Well, spit it out child!"

"Anita passed six years ago." I bite my lip, regretting my statement.

"And Axel?"

"Within the last month he was put on trial and executed." The woman breaks out into tears as the man comforts her.

"We were so hard on them." She cries. "We were young and scared out of our minds, so we disciplined them. But we were unintentionally harsh. Axel rebelled and ran away, so we thought we had to crack down on Anita. But we just shoved her away into that Gottschalk boy's arms. We're terrible parents; please forgive us."

"Anita loved you." I inform. "Axel did too. Anita always used to tell me that she learned from her parents: what it meant to truly worry and care for a child."

"How did my daughter die?" The man asks, his voice strained.

"It was a tumor." I inhale sharply. I've never really talked about this with this much thought about it. I point to the back of my head. "We couldn't afford the payment for treatments, especially when my stepfather passed away from heart problems. She just pretended like everything was okay, and I hate myself for never catching on sooner. I worked with Axel when I turned fifteen to turn a pretty penny and get her the treatments, but we were turned away again because we were too late. So I took care of her, but towards the end, it seemed like she wasn't there. She thought I was my father and begged me to forgive her for some unknown reason. Then, she started saying that she saw my father; seeing him or whatever she was actually looking at made her so happy. My father meant a lot to her."

"I feel like I don't even know her, my _own_ daughter."

"She loved gladiolas and the smell of vanilla and jasmine, and she smiled a lot because she said it made it easier on everyone else if she just smiled rather than complain about her life. She was an amazing woman, and I don't understand why the hell she had to _wait_ for my bastard father. She just said that I looked like him, that she blamed herself for what went wrong, that she was only good for waiting, and that she didn't deserve to see him ever again." I didn't notice my voice growing louder or the tone that rid my facade of all legitimacy.

"Your father was –?"

"An unlucky man who had endless potential that everyone wanted to have." I hand them the picture from Wesker's journal of the two of them dancing at Birkin's wedding. Wesker's chin is on her head as she rests her head against his chest.

"Did he love her?"

"Yes, very much so, I'm Jake by the way, Jake Aleks Muller."

"Nice to meet our grandson." The man replies with a solemn smile on his face. "May I keep this picture?"

"Yeah, they were together for ten years, and he would never forget her. No one would ever just forget her; she made people better," even though she was getting worse.

–xx–

**Their bullets are futile efforts to prolong their already elongated lives. My speed surpasses their bullets by far and even further than that. However, they are highly trained in first-hand combat, and that is all that will save their lives. I hold Jill against the wall by her neck, but I'm not interested in Jill. Chris is the bastard that needs to die; however, I seem to have lost sight of him. Out of my peripheral I see his fist and decide to take the hit in return to gain an advantage on him. His moves are weak and lack conciseness, so it is quite easy to counter every attack. Then, Jill decides that it's the genius idea to start shooting again, and perhaps she may hit Chris but never me. I would say that a two-to-one fight is unfair, but these two are so predictable it's sad really. Jill comes at me with a knife, but she is easily moved out of the way. This is a fight for the men. I grab Chris by his collar and slam him into Spencer's desk and drag him towards the window. He falls on his back and keels over on the floor. I grab him by the neck; here, I thought that revenge was something that took years of planning. But then again, Chris isn't the brightest. 'No!' Jill begs from across the room, but she doesn't matter at the current moment. "Let's end this." Before I can thrust my arm through his chest, Jill rudely interrupts us by throwing herself, in a tackling sort of manner, at me. My hand loses its grab on Chris, and Jill and I go out the window. Chris screams her name, and perhaps revenge will wait another day. With Jill, it will be even easier to make that bastard suffer, but she must survive first. I maneuver so that I can see the ground which is nonexistent because we are falling into the water, but the impact would probably kill her. So I move – to her pleasure – so that I will take the impact. She is a tool that I am not willing to lose. Thank you, Chris.**

I'm still trying to find why he hates Redfield so much.

–xx–

I don't know how, but I ended up talking to Jill Valentine. Perhaps it is because Sherry and Redfield are bickering about him visiting his sister and his other family members. I don't understand _that_ either. Jill has a smaller build than average, but I don't doubt that she could flip me over this table that we're sitting at.

"You're Wesker's son," she addresses.

"I think I should just change my name to that since everyone calls me that rather Jake." I joke.

"Did you ever meet him?"

"I met him a few times as a child I think, and I met him at my mother's grave. However, at the time, I didn't know it was my father."

"Your mother must have been a very forgiving and kind woman to be with him."

"She was, but he wanted to be better for her. Perhaps it was just a facade, or perhaps it's because she already had a shit life."

"I admire your mother. She sounds like an amazing woman."

"He – Wesker – wasn't always a monster."

"_That_'s hard to believe." She joked.

"Even after his 'revival,' he came to my mother's grave with her favorite flowers and paid his respects which is better than what everyone else did."

"I know that he used to be a good person, and I thought that I knew him better than anything. But I was wrong, and deep down, I wish he told me why he did what he did."

"What's all this rhetorical thinking?" Redfield inquires; he holds up his beer. "Drinks are on me!"

"Look at Redfield breaking the law." He looks confused. "I'm a 'minor,' remember?"

"By half a year!" Sherry laughs.

"Still a minor." I remind.

"I said 'drinks;' never implied _you_'d be getting any." Redfield redefines his offer.

"I'm hurt, really." I feign being hurt by his childish words as I go get a water. "I prefer to be sober anyway."

–xx–

**Yes, Jill is a great way of exacting revenge, but no, it's turning out to be somewhat more challenging than I thought. Her resistance is strong to my cause, which is no surprise, but I'll find a way to break her. I experiment with different compounds daily, and every day, she sits in her cell. She asks me things that I don't care about anymore. It was never about honor or money or love for my team members or S.T.A.R.S. Then, she says that name. 'Did you ever keep your promise?' She asks quietly. "What promise?" I respond without truly caring. 'Did you visit her? Did you visit Anita?' I pause; the memory of her and that man appear in my head. "You were wrong. She doesn't love me anymore, and it was foolish of me to take you up on that childish promise." 'Did you talk to her?' "No." 'Then how do you know she didn't love you?' I turn towards Jill's cell and walk over to the door. "How, you ask. She's married and has a child! I think that's blatantly obvious that she has moved on!" 'Have you moved on?' No. "Of course, I have."**

He moved on so much that he even came back to her funeral.

**Now that Spencer is dead and I have once again acquired my laboratory statistics, I can now get my way into Tricell, but preferably, I would like to find the weakest link in the company, someone who will listen to my every word, someone who will worship me as the God that I am. I have the memory drive with all of Umbrella's data in my pocket as I walk into the Tricell conference. I'm fashionably late as one of the founders' granddaughter finishes her speech. She smirks, proud of herself. She is the ever cold Excella Gionne. I admire her tenacity to get what she wants, but she is a follower, not a leader. She makes a bee-line for me when she exits stage right. 'I believe I would remember if I met a man so appealing as you amongst these fools.' She remarks; her voice is thick with her Italian accent. "Well, I'm a new guy." 'Tell me, Mr. New Guy, what do you offer to Tricell?' Her hand presses against my chest. I procure the memory drive and wave it in front of her casually. "I offer information that is way better than the best work of your best scientists." She narrows her eyes, and her brow furrows. 'I don't believe you.' I shrug and replace the drive back into my pocket. "What can I do to convince you then?" She taps her finger to her chin inquisitively. 'Tell me the truth. Who are you?' "My name is Wesker, Albert Wesker." 'Well, Mr. 'Wesker, Albert Wesker,' tell me what you intend to do by giving Tricell this information?' "Me? I tend to merge my funds with Tricell and work towards creating a new generation of society." She smirks. 'Funds? Are you a wealthy man, Mr. Wesker?' Her hand pulls flirtatiously at my tie. "Perhaps." She's hooked.**

She didn't know that was the day that she sealed her deal with the devil.

–xx–

Since Sherry offered her shower to me, I take the offer, and I turn the knobs of the shower. I slip off my shirt, unbuckle my belt, and let my pants fall to the ground. I slip off my boxers and kick them away from the shower. I step into the shower and allow the water to wash over me. And then, it hits me like an avalanche. The only living relatives I have are two strangers that I've never talked to before today. I'm a burden to them because I remind them of their mistakes of disowning their children. I got Axel killed, and I never saved my _own_ mother. I try to blame my father for all my problems, but if he were here, I would still be causing problems for everyone. He would just be one more person that I'm going to disappoint. I exhale. Don't think about it. Never-mind. I close my eyes, and when I open them to my surprise, tears join the shower water. I haven't cried in almost six years. Perhaps I should tell Sherry about everything that's going on, or I could just bite the bullet and 'face it like a man.'

I finish my shower, dry off, and put on the clean clothes that Sherry left at the door. When I walk out of the bathroom, Sherry holds out a VOSS water bottle. I take it from her hands and chug the water; she watches me.

"This – I'll have to admit – is the best vodka; it tastes just like water!" I joke.

"Just because it starts with V and O and is in a glass bottle doesn't mean that it's vodka." She corrects playfully.

"Redfield and Valentine get along well."

"Well of course they do." Sherry smiles. "Chris helped her back onto her feet after the Kijuju incident, when he found her again. He put up with a lot of shit, and right when he finally got every piece of her puzzled mind in place, he had to be shipped out to Edonia. She worried, but when she heard that he disappeared, she panicked, fearing that the same thing that happened to her happened to Chris."

"Sherry," I reach towards her; her back is turned to me.

"Jake," she replies as hoped.

"I'm in a country that I've never been in; I have no family and at the current moment, no money. I'm a bad person to be around, so why are you still here? Did the government pay you to make sure I don't become my father? Did they pay you to put a bullet in my head if I even get close to falling down that trail?"

"I'm here because I worry about you." She smiles meekly.

"Why?"

"You just stated the reasons that I should worry about you, and no, you can't get rid of me by listing all your problems. It may be some other girls' turn off, but I like being here for you because you've already done _so_ much for me."

"But –"

"Jake Aleks Muller, you are an interesting man, and I love you and want to be with you through thick and thin because no matter what you've done or will do, everyone deserves someone to stand by their side and hold their hand now and then." She smiles as she rests her hands on my hips. I kiss her and pull her into my arms, and I think I understand why my mother was _so_ important to Wesker because after you do so much shit that makes you sick of yourself it's comforting to have someone there who knows to remind you that you're not crazy or psychotic. People like Wesker and me need people like my mother and Sherry to tell them that they're loved regardless of their atrocious pasts.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21.**

Sherry can't believe I've never seen fireworks. She drags me along with her out towards the only park in the city of concrete, metal, and glass. About halfway there, we meet up with Redfield and Jill. I really wouldn't expect Redfield to be this kind of guy, but he's holding Jill's hand. I'm a bit off with my black shirt and jeans, and everyone else is wearing those good ol' American colors: red, white, and blue. The four of us head towards the park, and the crowd looms around the entirety of the park, which is amazing because this place is huge. Sherry points out something and runs off with Jill, and before I know it, I'm with Redfield fetching drinks. Redfield's nervous.

"I never explained anything to you," Redfield admits.

"Hmm?" I stare at the wood of the bar that we wandered into.

"Now that you know Jill, this may be easier." He scratches the back of his head.

"So it was her, wasn't it? She made it personal." He nods.

"Wesker killed off most of S.T.A.R.S., and then, Jill and I started the BSAA. I thought I lost her when she sacrificed her well-being for my life. When that – when Wesker resurfaced in Kijuju, I found it as an initiative to exact my own revenge on him."

"You want to know something?" He never responds. "I didn't give two shits about Wesker. I was pissed to know the bastard was dead because I wanted to beat the shit out of him and make him suffer for everything that he put my mother through. He was never there, so don't beat yourself up because you killed my 'dear old dad.'"

"Your mother, how did she stand him?"

"When you live your life with everyone degrading you, you lose the right to degrade others, and besides, he would have torn apart the world to save her. She had faith in him."

"I did too." He stares at the ground. "He was a good man, the first time around."

–xxi–

**I hear Excella's heels against the floor before I see her shadow looming over me. I have successfully isolated a simplistic, temporary concoction to sustain my sanity for a little while longer. I have amassed a small fortune, planting prices on parasitic, mutation-inducing species. Excella sits next to me as I finish writing a report to archive my growing finances. She wraps her hands around my forearm. 'I've been thinking that every king needs a queen.' I peer at her out of my peripheral. "King?" She presses against me. 'Yes, in this world, my darling, you are the king, and they don't even know it yet.' She smirks. I know her intentions and her foolish, human incentive. "Why does a king need a queen?" I pander. She stops, checks if I've finished my work, and slowly slides my laptop off of my lap as she tries to act seductive. "What exactly are you trying to do?" I feign confusion. Her hand runs down my chest. 'You're different.' It's my turn to smirk. "That's because I'm Hell in human skin, and everyone who gets too close burns." Her hand slides down to my belt. 'I don't mind the heat.'**

Excella Gionne was just Wesker minus the virus and plus a dress, heels, and PMS.

**Excella sits next to me, and she's on cloud nine. She stares out the window at the snow. Anita used to do the same thing, but she would get dressed, run outside, and make tracks in the snow. Something about perfection scared her. I miss her, and there's no way to deny or avoid that. And I still love her.**

But he never came back.

** I received a letter today, and I still don't know how she finds me.**

**'Dear Albert,  
'It's been a long time, and perhaps you don't care to remember me. So this is my selfishly vain attempt to reconnect. It's been fourteen – going on fifteen – years, and I have to tell you something. Well, Albert, you have a son. He's fourteen, but I'm not trying to get you to take care of us or anything. I just thought it was important for you to know. You don't have to do anything for us. He looks like you...Oh, I also thought you would want this back.  
'Love,  
'Anita'**

** I peer into the envelope, and I should have known she wouldn't keep it. But why did it take her fifteen years? I pick up the sapphire ring, inspecting it. I never thought I'd see this again. It's aged slightly, from wear. So maybe, she's been wearing it throughout these fifteen years, and if so, why is she giving it back? I inspect the envelope once more, but like last time, there is no return address. I want to ask her how she found my address, and why she's giving this back.**

She was sick, and they told her it was terminal. That's why she broke fifteen years of silence to tell him that he had a son, but he didn't care. Why didn't he care?

–xxi–

I finally accessed my savings account, so now I can stop living off of Sherry. She talks about vacation, and Redfield offers renting a house in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. I pitch the idea to Sherry, after making some calls; she agrees to the thought of vacation. It's only four hours away from the city after all. We – well, I was already packed – pack our bags; Redfield gets a car for us. His reasoning is 'at least, I won't have to watch over you anymore.' I stare out the window at the rolling landscapes of trees, trees, and more trees. How exciting. My eyes fall upon Sherry.

"Now I see why you don't like my staring." Sherry chuckles.

"Have you ever thought about how we got here?" I ask.

"Yeah, you offered a vacation, and I'm still trying to figure out why."

"No, I meant here, together."

"I'd like to think it was all coincidence." _'Just think if Sherry and our child were to be together.'_

"Maybe we were supposed to meet some time earlier on, but stuff just got in the way of it all."

"You act as if you wouldn't exist without me or something." Funny that she'd say that.

"Yeah, it sounds dumb."

The house I rented is old – from the eighteenth century – but welcoming nonetheless. The exterior is wood-paneled, and the yard is peppered with hydrangeas, ranging from deep purple to a pale blue. We unload our bags and walk up to the front door. The owner opens the door, gives us a tour of the house, offers any food that we would like from the fridge throughout our stay, and leaves the keys. The owner is an artist who stays at his gallery when renting out his home. He makes me think of a child's mythical Santa Claus with his cheery, round face; full, wispy beard; and stout body. When he leaves, we truly get to look around the house. It's nice and cozy; there are three doors that lead outside. However, there's only two showers, and one's an outdoor shower which is apparently an important thing on the Cape. The stairs to the second floor are steep, but the second floor opens up to a master bedroom. I place the bags by the bed and peer out the window at the garden that surrounds two-thirds of the house. It's nice here.

"Let's go to the beach." Sherry offers as she pokes her head out from the staircase. "It's only a few minutes from here."

"Sure," I comply, digging through my stuff for a pair of shorts.

–xxi–

** I never thought I'd come back here. I sent Ada Wong to get the Plaga from the Los Illuminados, so I could do my own investigation. She didn't ask for anything, and I assume that has to do with the agent Leon Scott Kennedy. Either way, I could care less. Edonia has become more of a dump, consisting of run down and abandoned buildings. I walk around the city, stopping in a few shops to ask about Anita. No results, and I'm ready to give up. A customer at a grocery store stops me and points me towards Anita. **

He was too late. His timing sucks.

**The directions were to a cemetery, so here I am with a gladiola and an apology, an apology that she won't ever hear it would seem. I carry myself through the field, inspecting graves. ****There's one in the distance covered in flowers, and a boy sits in front of it. He is alone. The sun has hidden behind clouds, and the air begins to thicken with humidity. My eyes refuse to read and interpret the name on the grave, but I cannot deny what is set in stone. And I will them to read the words and tattoo this pain on my brain. "Is this really Anita Muller?" I motion towards the stone, a pathetic representation of her if you ask me. The boy looks at me with anger at the unknown. 'No, she's in the ground, six feet under, dumbass.' I inhale, taking in the information. "What I meant is surely understood." 'Yeah, yeah, what did you come here for? To criticize her for being a whore? Spit on her grave and leave.' The boy hisses with a scowl on his face. He has her eyes, and it feels like I'm finally getting that hatred that I deserved. I crouch down and run my hand over the embossed letters that are supposed to immortalize her memory. They aren't particularly doing a good job."No, I came to see her one last time, but it seems that she has beaten me." I stare at him, and I wish I could explain something, anything. I wish that I had been there, that I knew, that I wouldn't keep hiding behind these sunglasses. I wish this child would accuse me, make me accountable. "Was she happy?" This takes the boy aback. His eyes soften as he gazes at the flowers on the grave. 'As happy as someone with her life could be.' He has his mother's eyes and hair color, but his image is tainted with my own features. I want to ask so many questions, but this child, he was raised by another man. So I have no right to get involved. "Are you her son?" He turns within a split second; shock stares me in the eyes, begging me for an answer. "Simple deduction, you have her eyes."**

He knew. He knew that I was his bastard son. He didn't have to ask. He didn't have to do anything, and that's what he chose to do: _nothing._

**His eyes flare with anger. 'And how would you know, ass?!' I know because I'm your father, the man you have probably hated ever since you knew of my existence. "I just do." I stand back up, exhaling slowly. I place the gladiola on top of her grave. "You used to love these." I whisper as I turn to leave. "I still love you." I mutter to myself as my legs retreat from the scene. It only takes a handful of minutes before the boy is on my heels again. 'She wasn't happy.' He admits. 'She married a man, so she could keep me. Once she started to love him, he died. She was afraid of loving people, and she couldn't function anymore.' I stop; why did it take fifteen years? 'It was a tumor. She was delusional, but she tried to work because we couldn't afford her treatments.' And here I am basking in my wealth. 'And when we could afford it, they said it was pointless and refused to help. She carried herself with a smile and faith in a man that never came back, my bastard father.' The boy laughs. 'There were days when she couldn't differentiate me from him, and I'd play along because she'd be happy. See that's the thing that you don't understand. She was happy for all the wrong reasons, and I wish I could have fixed it all.' But I could have fixed everything. I could have and should have. I shouldn't have gotten involved with her. I didn't know I'd pull her down this path. 'That's why I'm going to find the bastard and teach him a lesson.' You found him, but that's too easy for even a child. "Good luck." I continue my retreat from the child, away from Anita. It seems that in the end I left her behind...**

He didn't know my name, but I knew his. I didn't know what he looked like then. He was a coward who refused to look me in the eyes, shielding himself with a pair of expensive sunglasses.

–xxi–

I sit on the sand and watch Sherry walk towards the water. I've never really thought about people in bathing suits or anything like that. I wonder if that's weird. She stands at the water's edge, considering the option of turning back. I stand up and run across the partially occupied beach towards the edge of the water. My arms grab her as I propel the both of us into the cold water. She almost screams but chooses to smack me instead; she hugs me closer as her body shivers. My arms are still around her, and her head rests against my shoulder. The sun is hidden behind heavy clouds, and this vacation is feeling more and more like home. I kiss her forehead. Her eyes rise to meet mine. I say that I hate my father, and don't get me wrong I _do_ hate him. But if he wasn't my father and Thomas was, I'd be another J'avo and never meet Sherry. So that was my father's last gift to my mother, whether or not he intended it to be so.

After another freezing hour in the water, we returned to the house. With towel in hand, I make my way out to the outdoor shower. The air is chilly, hinting at rain. Despite the temperature, the water is hot. The shower itself is refreshing in its own unique fashion. When I finish, I grab the towel and wrap it around my waist; then, I make my way up to the master bedroom to get clothes. Sherry walks out of the bathroom in her underwear. She jumps a bit at the sight of me; her face is red with the embarrassment of being so under-dressed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm technically naked." I state flatly.

"It's not like that's something I've never seen before." She flirts.

"Oh, well, it's not like I haven't seen you like that either." I joke; she disappears in the bathroom and returns fully dressed while I only have a pair of boxers on. "That's got to be another one of your super powers."

"Or perhaps, you're just slow."

"Oh, that's definitely it!" My sarcasm is as obvious as the wear on my pants.

"Where to for dinner?" She sits on the bed, watching me slide a shirt on.

"Anywhere your heart desires, seeing as I don't have to mooch off of you anymore."

"We're on the Cape, so let's get seafood."

"I've never had seafood, but sure." I put on socks and a pair of sneakers. Finally, I give Sherry a good once over, and she looks beautiful, especially compared to my slovenly put together ass.

I never really thought anything about seafood, but now, I realize that I underestimated the destructive power seafood has towards appetites. I just stare at the steamed clams on Sherry's plate. She opens the clam shells and pulls out the clam with her fork effortlessly. I can see the poor steamed bastard with his – what I assume is – breathing tube. Either way, it looks gross. She says it tastes like chicken, but that's what everyone says about everything, and eighty percent of the time, that resemblance to chicken is nonexistent. As for seafood as a whole, I don't mind shrimp, but they don't really look like their living forms and like burgers, are processed beyond their living resemblance. I'm just saying if you have to rinse the sand off of your cooked food, you probably shouldn't be eating it...

"Don't tell me that you're going to chicken out, Jake Muller!" Sherry commands as she holds a clam out in front of my face.

"It just looks...ew." I admit, scratching the back of my head nervously.

"Jake Muller, the man who took on the Ustanak one-on-one, is grossed out by a little-neck clam." She giggles.

"I don't think you understand how gross that thing looks." I sigh.

"Rasklapanje would beg to differ."

"Those things are pretty nasty. I prefer to call them Gumbercules." I eye the clam.

"Just don't think about what it looks like."

"Too late for that." I take her fork and bite into the shellfish. It's not bad, but it's the texture that I find repulsive. I find it quite hard to swallow for a second. Sherry giggles.

"I can't believe you've never had seafood before."

"It's expensive." I point out blatantly.

"But still..."

"Still?"

"It's seafood! Everyone's had it before!"

"Not me, guess I'm not everyone." I smirk. She pouts at my response. "That clam tastes how it looks – like rubber."

"Perhaps it's an acquired taste."

"Well, I can live without it then." I chuckle.

"Not while we're on the Cape you won't."

"I can't wait to tell Redfield of my adventures of outdoor showers and seafood so delicious it makes me gag."

"I'm glad you're looking forward to it all."

"You know it, Super Girl." I wink at her. She leans over the table and kisses me. A blush tints my cheeks. PDA has always meant private display of affection for me. As for its public counterpart, I don't quite know it that well.

–xxi–

**No more childish hesitation. There aren't any more restraints on my conscience. I will fully comply with the Tyrant now. I will do anything to make this world perfect, and since no man is perfect, man is the first thing to go. If I'm a monster, everyone will know my name, and if I'm a king, everyone will kneel at my feet because I do indeed have the world in my hands. I have nothing to lose, and that's what makes the most dangerous of men.**

**A/N:** Once again, I need to thank you for your patience. I've been all over the place recently...


End file.
